


Spark

by astalavista



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astalavista/pseuds/astalavista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cold-hearted apostate Hawke seeks to defend herself the best way possible, learning blood magic from the Dalish pariah. Eventually F!Hawke x Merrill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Are you sure you want to do this?" The dagger felt icy cold against the skin of her forearm, raising chill bumps on Hawke's skin. She closed her eyes, beads of sweat on her forehead. Was she sure she wanted to do this? Images flickered across her mind's eye, of her family, of the Blight, of the darkspawn. Again, the question came. It was a a mere whisper, gently spoken. Merrill's voice made her toes curl, made her feel tense all over._

 _"Yes. I am sure." It was spoken with conviction. Mere seconds later, the dagger cut into the skin of her forearm, opening her flesh, blood trickling forth down her arm over her wrist. Hawke gritted her teeth and focused._ Oh Maker, the power. _Hawke's eyes opened widely, gasping at the rush of magic that made her whole being sing._  


* * *

Carver elbowed her hard, and pain flashed through Hawke's side where his elbow had connected with her ribs. In shock and pain her hand let go of the bunch of tin soldiers she had been playing with. "I'll take those. You shouldn't be playing with soldiers." He was younger than the eldest of the Hawke siblings, but he was already lots stronger than Hawke and his twin sister Bethany. At age six, he was able to win just about any fight he got into, and those were plenty. He was a force to be reckoned with amongst the children in their current home village. "Go play with Bethany, do girl things. Bake me a cake." He pointed at the pile of sand where Bethany was indeed creating sand cakes and castles. She was a lot milder of nature than her fierce tomboy of a sister and her bullying brother.

Hawke wouldn't have any of it. Blood was drumming in her ears, drowning out everything else. She hated being bullied around. It filled her with so much anger that it was almost dizzying. With a howl of outrage, she grabbed some of the sand and threw it in his face, right into his eyes. He dropped on his knees, crying out, which was Hawke's opportunity to grab the stolen toys and run for it. She didn't count on any help from Bethany, just running for it. Adrenaline was pushing her onwards.

Hawke ran until her sides ached with pain and every breath was painful in her chest. She finally found a bush to cower behind, clutching the tin soldiers to her chest as if they were made of finest gold. It was a hot summer day, and everything was dry, the sun high in the sky. Dry twigs were crushing underfoot. As the girl caught her breath, she heard running. Her brother was of course chasing her. He would never let anything go, especially not when it was Hawke who was the offender.

"I'll get you, don't think I won't find you," he yelled as he turned the corner, and then skidded to a stop. He always seemed to have a second sense, a knack for finding those who ran from him. It would suit him well in later years. His eyes skimmed over her, a frown on his face. Sometimes it was like looking at a mirror, when studying Carver. The Hawke siblings were all made of the same stock. "Ah, there you are!" He reached out to grab her by the hair, pushing himself behind the bush, unconcerned with the twigs and branches scratching at his skin.

Subconsciously, Hawke opened one sweaty palm, squinting. A tiny flame burst into life, and she hurled it at the dry wood of the bush. The bush burst into flame, crackling, and Carver howled in fright, and also pain as a branch touching his arm was aflame now. Bethany had joined them, and cried, trying to help him, yet scared of the magic. _She's always scared of it. She doesn't feel its power. She doesn't hear its song._ Hawke focused and a chill spread on his arm, dousing the fire. _I am so much more powerful than he is and he hates it. I do not need to be afraid of anything._

That night, Hawke got the worst thrashing of her life from her father Malcolm, for having used her magic in the open, and against her brother.  


* * *

Hawke learned to be aggressive from her dealings with Carver. From childhood on, Carver was different. In a household of three mages, he felt lessened by it. If sibling rivalry was a science, the two of them had perfected it. They competed for everything. For their father's love, to who was fastest running home from school, anything imaginable. The only one who was able to bring any measure of peace to them was their sister Bethany, for they both loved her gentle soul very much.

It shaped the woman Hawke was turning into, just like her being an apostate was shaping it. Her family never settled down anywhere, for fear of templars catching them. Three apostates in one household meant constant fear, constant re-adapting to new circumstances. Invariably facing strangers, on the run at the slightest hints that templars might be in town. Hawke never learned to have friends, they didn't stay long enough anywhere for that.

It wasn't until the Hawke children were almost adults that they sorted out a life for themselves in Lothering, their first home where the constant running stopped. Carver joined the militia at 15, and Hawke settled into her studies of magic, something that she embraced fearlessly, unlike her sister. They both were very adept, but Bethany's fear held her back. Hawke never wanted to hold back. It made her bristle with resentment. Anger management was a constant trial. Fire was her speciality, and sometimes she felt she was glowing bright as a bonfire, ready to burst into flames, ready to be consumed by it.  


* * *

"Bethany, keep up!" They were fleeing from the darkspawn and Bethany was flagging behind, with their mother. Hawke drove them relentlessly. She was the eldest, her father had placed the family in her hands, and she was doing anything to protect them, the best way that she could. It just usually didn't involve any amounts of empathy or niceties. She could not be that weak.

Bethany always held back, always incredibly careful, but now was not the time for that. "Bethany, damn you, hit them like you mean it. Do it! Lothering is destroyed behind us. You want us to live?" She gritted her teeth. "Imagine it's a bunch of templars chasing us." She saw angry tears in Bethany's eyes. It was what Hawke wanted. Anger would fuel power, power would see them out of this.

When the ogre rushed towards them, Bethany's anger and Hawke's goading caused the younger of the sisters to draw the ogre to her with her fireballs. The way that Bethany's petite body was smashed against the rocks in the ogre's grip still haunted Hawke in her dreams years later.  


* * *

There was no more peace between Carver and Hawke. Bethany's death shattered the fickle peace they had found in adulthood. He blamed her for his twin sister's death. She deflected all his anger with anger of her own. It was enough to blame herself in her own head, but it did not do that he would voice his accusations.

Once they built a new life in Kirkwall, they shared a home in Kirkwall, in Lowtown, (if you could call Gamlen's hovel a home) but they did not share a life. When Hawke had the funds to go to the Deep Roads, she left Carver behind without a second thought. It was him who felt the Hawkes needed the expedition, and it was her who made him stay behind with Leandra, unwilling to concede him any part in the shaping of their future.

When she returned from the Deep Roads, he was a templar recruit, one of those who hunted mages like Hawke. She was running again, like she had run from him as a child, and she would never be safe now. Not without Bethany.  


* * *

How do you protect yourself in a city full of templars, when you are an apostate burning to use magic? Hawke believed in the offensive. If she was to live and survive, she had to be the best. Maybe it was just her competitive spirit. Maybe it was common sense. Or maybe it was that what the templars claimed was true. A mage was always at risk to be corrupted by power. What had Wesley, Aveline's templar husband said? The spawn are clear in their intent, but a mage is always an unknown. What did the templars fear the most? Blood magic. Would that be her best defense? It was something Hawke pondered a lot.

Hawke had read Anders' manifesto many times. She fought for mages, defended them, saved them. Never with a compassionate heart, but because it was the right thing to do. She and all of the others, they shouldn't have to run. They deserved freedom, and the choice to use their powers. Would it be enough though?

It was thus that she walked into the depths of Lowtown, to the alienage, to talk to the only blood mage Hawke knew. Merrill.  


* * *

Hawke's relationship to Merrill was cool and detached. She did not form any close human connections. She associated and allied with people, but she always kept her distance. She had brought Merrill to Kirkwall from Sundermount, and seen to it she was doing well. She was a fellow mage, so she had to be treated right.

Merrill was naive and awkward about the world, and she often forgot everything around her for her studies, so Hawke made sure she had food, the necessities of life, and the peace to study. She did not offer her friendship though. Hawke didn't offer friendship to anyone. She established respect and boundaries. People worked with her because she got things done, not because she had their hearts. She even managed to work with Fenris, even though they were polar opposites. It was a certain sense of power to have someone as mage-hating as Fenris helping mages. Their alliance would not last forever.

Hawke's was a lonely life. It was the only kind of life that Hawke could allow.  


* * *

When Hawke entered Merrill's house, she found the Dalish in her usual position, seated before the eluvian, the mirror she was trying to rebuild. Beside her on the floor was a dagger, dried blood stains on the blade. Hawke sat on a chair behind her and waited for Merrill's attention. She watched droplets of blood flowing from the elf's fingers to the air, misting, then turning into a gaseous form, dispersing upon the mirror. Hawke's hands closed and opened, and she sat there, feeling the pulse of power, a hint of the potent magic. It made her mouth dry. She desired that kind of power more than anything else. It was the only form of desire she knew.

Merrill rose gracefully and turned around to shyly smile at Hawke. "Welcome to my home. I...uh, would like to offer you hospitality." She walked into the other room and then returned with a mug of water that Hawke accepted with murmured thanks. This was awkwardness. Hawke shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably and clung to her staff. It was her focus. She was unsure how to handle Merrill, who always seemed so friendly, naive and cheerful, so very eager to please anyone she spoke to.

"I am a terrible host, am I not?" Merrill shuffled her bare feet nervously, kicking up dust on the floor. She didn't clean very often, her focus were clearly her studies. Hawke shook her head. Others would have offered a reassuring smile, trying to put the elf at ease, but that was not how Hawke functioned. Unsmiling, she looked at the Dalish, studying her closely. It made Merrill fidget. It made many people fidget when her eyes focused on them in cool observation.

Hawke finally spoke, indicating that Merrill should sit. Almost cowed, the elf did sit down, looking at Hawke from her guileless, green eyes. "I am of a mind to learn blood magic." Merrill gaped at her, her eyes round, enormous in her face now. She even blanched. Hawke clenched a fist, hating the feeling of being denied.

"That is...that is, wow. Really? Blood magic? You mean the kind of magic that will have templars kill you without any qualms? They won't even make you tranquil, I think. They'll just lop your head off." Merrill made a motion as if she held a sword, chopping someone's head off. Not that the delicate elf could possibly even hold a sword without impaling her own foot. Hawke's lips almost had a faint smile on them now, as she nodded. "Everyone condemns me for my own use of it, and here you are, telling me about wanting to learn it. How will you learn it?" Merrill eyed her suspiciously now.

Hawke spun her staff in place. It was not her habit to create elaborate phrasings, details, stories. Which was one of the reasons Varric and Hawke did not really get along all that well. He was always shocked by her bluntness and her disinterest in the imaginative. "You will teach me."

"Dirthamen! Me, teach you!" Merrill jumped up and paced around nervously, and looked like she would find a hole to scurry out of like a mouse. A green mouse. That's what she was. Hawke leaned her forehead against her staff, stifling a sigh. She had not expected this to be easy. "Are you ready to be despised by everyone you know? Leading a life completely on your own? Blood mages have no friends, and do not seek company. At least not those blood mages who do not seek to be caught. Not like these fellows from the Starkhaven circle." Merrill wandered around the table, never looking at Hawke, just talking. "It can be very useful, but it requires very strict control. It's not all fun and games." She stopped, leaning her hands on the back of a chair now, facing Hawke.

"Nothing in life is all fun and games." Hawke leaned forward, giving the elf a piercing look, like a bird of prey, like her namesake. "I am not interested in fun, nor games. I seek to protect myself, my family, and those at my side." She didn't call them friends or companions, because that would bring with it an expectation of feelings. She purged her feelings with fire. She was surprised however that Merrill did not flinch, fidget, or look away. The elf actually looked at her in a challenging way.

"I don't want to sound proud or arrogant, but I am very good at what I am doing. I never receive acknowledgement for it, but it is the truth. It is that which makes me feared amongst my people." Merrill actually crossed her arms, sounded almost cocky. Hawke preferred this to the green mouse elf. _She actually has a spine, amazing_. "I could say no, but then knowing you, you would probably travel to Sundermount and seek out Audacity yourself. I don't think you'd be strong enough to deal with this spirit."

 _She is so proud. She fully believes it_. Hawke bristled at the insinuation that she wasn't strong enough, but then conceded with a nod. "I have no interest in dealing with demons. I actually am finding the perfect opportunity here to be able to study the art without having to make deals with demons. Unless you are already possessed, but I doubt that." Hawke gripped her staff tightly. She was very restless now. This conversation made her hair stand on end. It had an energy that she could not identify.

Merrill laughed, then shook her head, meek again. "No, I am not possessed. Or...maybe I am, but then I would be a fool to tell you." She rose on tiptoes and then roared, lifting her arms into the air. It actually made Hawke smile, for just a moment, before her face was an unemotional mask again. Others would have laughed loudly. Merrill blushed when she noticed Hawke's lack of response and stared at her feet. _So awkward. But then, Carver always called me awkward and a fool_.

"Very well then. In exchange I will make sure that you will have everything that you desire." Hawke made this offer solemnly and then squinted thoughtfully, lines on her forehead. "Anything you might require for your studies, food, amenities. Books maybe? I'll aid." She didn't usually spend so many words on things, but she felt the urge to narrow things down. For some reason it seemed important to clarify. Maybe it was because an extremely flushed Merrill had turned her back on Hawke after her generous offer. Was this matter already doomed to failure? Never. She would not let failure happen.

"Very generous, Hawke. Would you then maybe go to the bazaar with me later? I find myself out of funds and could use some food." Hawke relaxed at Merrill's words and nodded. "We can start our lessons tomorrow." The elf bit her bottom lip, her teeth nibbling on it repeatedly, gnawing in worry. "You must not tell anyone. Of course. But you know this, right? It's a risk."

Hawke rose, nodding to the elf. "You need not worry yourself about such a thing. I am always careful." She had been, ever since the day a bush burst into flames, burning Carver's skin. "Let's go."

How glorious not being careful had been.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing seemed worse in Kirkwall than living through a hot, humid summer day. Frequent downpours would turn the roads and alleys in Lowtown into muddy pits. What looked like a puddle was in reality a bottomless well, sucking in boots and trapping many travelers. Hawke was of a mind to freeze any of those puddles, with a casual flick of her wrist. It would have been so easy. Focus on the heat of the day, and then just suck every little bit of heat out of it, until nothing was left behind but trails of ice, frosty layers, thick, steaming. It was harder for her to work with it than fire, its polar opposite, but she had mastered it, and at times she envisioned that her whole body was encased in a thick layer of ice, unbreaking. There were no cracks, no chinks in her armor.

But of course she was not just flicking her wrist. Instead she pulled a wet boot out of yet another puddle, and walked onwards, her booted feet making wet, sucking sounds with every step. Her coat was far too warm for a summer's day. The stench of sweating bodies lay like a thick cloud over all of Lowtown. The unwashed masses, ripe with dirt and sweat, and here she was, mingling with them, even though she had made it big, and owned the former Amell Estate in Hightown. _Have I not worked hard to flee this decrepit hole?_ And yet half of her companions still lived here, did business here and most of her assignments for pay led her here.

Like today's. It wasn't exactly an assignment. It had been her idea to study with Merrill. Hawke should have known that it would not be easy. Once she had shown up at Merrill's house, she had been ushered out immediately. No one ushered Hawke out and she had been about to snap at the Dalish, but the smaller elf had been adamant.

Merrill skidded ahead, navigating each puddle with ease. She hopped, she jumped or circumvented the water instead of slogging through it. It must be a Dalish skill. The elf was famous for getting lost in Lowtown frequently, and her requirement to use a ball of twine to aid her finding her way was the butt of many a joke at the Hanged Man. Was it an act though? Merrill seemed so assertive, so confident today. Hawke irritably swatted mosquitoes away, drawn to humanity in eager hunger for blood. Was she like a mosquito too? Blood had brought her to Lowtown today.

Nothing about Merrill spoke confused and lost right now. She navigated the many booths of the Lowtown bazaar with obvious ease. This was a section Hawke had not been in, not that she could recall. This was where fenced goods were exchanged, and the crowd seemed a lot more exotic. Less Marchers and Fereldans, more Antivans, Rivaini, the occasional Orlesian looking like a brightly plumed songbird walking with puffed up chest.

"Here we are," the Dalish brightly chirped. The booth was a weapon stall. Knives and daggers, laying on the surface of the stall in neat rows. Some looked used. Some looked sturdy. Some had jagged blades and were obvious weapons of murder. Some of them looked exquisite. _Isabela would have a field day_. "And now we find the right blade for you," Merrill added and indicated the wares. The vendor himself was obviously Antivan, and immediately started praising his wares, in a thick and very unappealing accent. Hawke had no use for most Antivans, their mannerisms, their flowery patterns of speech, their backstabbing. She ignored him, and instead focused on the wares before her.

"You are looking for something that is very sharp. You want a new blade. It needs to lie easily in your hand. It needs to cut smoothly. It will be your most important tool." Merrill sounded very businesslike, but there was an undercurrent of excitement. _She is enjoying this._

The Antivan merchant seemed to misunderstand and offered his selection of meat cleavers. Hawke quickly shook her head firmly, then pointed at the first knife she had noticed. Was there something mystical, something magical about the tool that blood mages used to cut themselves? If there was, it would be this knife that she wanted. The handle was carved into the likeness of flame, intricate woodwork, painted bright red. She wanted it. She didn't even know if blood magic was truly for her, but this knife was.

"Fifty sovereigns. Look at the quality of the woodwork. The finest crafters worked on this. Look at the blade. It's a piece of art." It looked like one, but fifty sovereigns was preposterous. Merrill's eyes were round in her face, and she pointed at another blade, far more basic, maybe to deter Hawke. Hawke wasn't to be deterred. She just stared at the merchant, coldly. Her gaze was as cutting as all the daggers he was selling.

"For fifty sovereigns, I expect to grab this knife, stab you in the eye with it and then take all the rest you have here. That would be worth that much money for me." Hawke slammed down a five sovereign coin, challenging the vendor with every stare. Her gaze was menacing, and cold. In fact, she drew the air around them to her, creating artificial cold with a flare of power. She wanted him to be scared. She saw his breath fog, and his gaze waver. "This is the Lowtown Bazaar, isn't it? Or are you a weaponsmith of the Viscount's household?" She let the magic go, and the wave of warm humidity that hit them was almost sickening. The merchant leaned forward, his hand closing over the coin, bowing his head.

Hawke picked up her new knife, and turned to leave without offering the merchant a further look. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_. Behind her, Merrill gasped. "That was amazing, lethallan! I didn't know you could do this. I always pay what they ask of me. He looked like he was going to pass out. It was so intense, I thought it got colder there for a moment. Do all Fereldans shop like this?" When they had done their food shopping for Merrill, Hawke had paid all and not actually paid attention to what Merrill was buying.

"It's called haggling, Merrill. I might teach you." Hawke did not know why she said that and scowled. Friends taught each other things. They weren't friends. She sheathed her new knife and focused on navigating the puddles to return to the alienage.  


* * *

It was dark and cool in Merrill's house. Candles provided the only source of light in the windowless house. It was soothing after the glare of the sun outside, and the throngs of people in the bazaar. Merrill touched her shoulder, in a gesture of familiarity that made Hawke extremely uncomfortable. "Take off your coat. It's too fine to be stained with blood. It might be...messy." She disappeared to the backroom.

Sensible thought. Always good to have sensible thoughts. Hawke nodded assent and took off her far too warm coat, hanging it carefully over the back of a chair. Underneath she wore a simple, white, hip-length shift, damp with perspiration. It clung to her body, to every curve. Hawke did not pay attention to it. She knew that some found her beautiful and alluring. She was more adept at sidestepping advances made towards her than sidestepping puddles. For men, a sharp 'Back off' was usually sufficient. For Isabela, a slap to the wrist was sometimes an additional requirement. She waited for Merrill to re-appear.

She did but stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Hawke. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was frozen. Hawke eventually snapped her fingers. "Wake up. What's wrong with you?" Merrill immediately flushed and turned around, not facing Hawke anymore. She seemed embarrassed. _Maker, what's her problem now?_ Hawke looked down herself and did not notice any issue.

"We're ready to start now," Merrill said, walking into her bedroom. Her voice sounded oddly strangled. Hawke shook her head, having no patience, no understanding for any quirky behavior. She followed Merrill into the bedroom, unsheathing her new dagger. She put it down on the bedside table and then spun around, inspecting the room. She had been in here before, but briefly. The room was dominated by the massive frame of the eluvian sitting right next to Merrill's bed.

 _How cute, she has embroidered pillows_. The contempt was loud in her head as she looked at the sheets and pillows. There were a couple more pillows on the floor, which actually looked swept. On the bedside table were a set of vials filled with clear liquid. Hawke had no idea what they might be. Her throat was dry now, as nervousness started to fill her. She would never admit to it, but she had this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Gut churning. She kept her cool veneer and sat down on a pillow when Merrill indicated to sit. Her magic was close to the surface, making her fingertips hurt like sharp pinpricks. Is it going to hurt? _Am I doing the right thing? What's right?_ Her thoughts were racing.

Merrill wordlessly handed her a skin that was uncorked. Hawke sniffed at the skin. Red wine. Smelled like cheap swill from the Hanged Man. She put it to her lips and drank. It was sour on her tongue and still flowed down her throat, cool and soothing. Merrill sat down crosslegged opposite of her, and removed the long fingerless gloves she was wearing. "It's best if you relax, and in the early days I found spirits helped me relax the most. I mean alcohol. Not real spirits. You get the drift. Don't get too intoxicated though."

How funny it was that silly little Merrill turned into a serious and confident person the moment she started talking about blood magic. Were her constant affirmations that she knew what she was doing the full truth? It seemed like it. Hawke took another long swallow and then put the skin aside. She took a long look at Merrill's arms. The skin of her left arm that had been covered by the glove showed a weave of criss-crossed, thin white scars. You had to look very closely, but they were there. For a moment Hawke wondered if her skin felt rough, full of tiny ridges. But why would she touch anyone? Scientific interest. She turned her arms, to look at the insides of her forearms, the skin soft, pale and completely without blemish.

"It is said that the magisters of Tevinter used blood magic to conquer Elvhenan, leading to our fall. I am working on restoring the eluvian to receive more knowledge of that time, to restore our former glory, of the days of Arlathan. As such, I should hold blood magic in contempt, shouldn't I?" Merrill had her hands on her knees and looked relaxed. "But no. Only with blood magic was I able to cleanse the taint from my shard of the eluvian. It is a tool. It's an alternative to common magic. Powerful. I think you can exert the kind of control that will be necessary to succeed at it." She bit her bottom lip for a moment, but not as sign of insecurity, more a sign of thinking hard. "If you falter, if you fall prey to creatures from the Fade, then I will stop you. If you become a risk, I will kill you, Hawke."

Hawke was impressed, and solemnly nodded. She did not expect any less. Both of them had seen enough blood mages who had become corrupt. They had killed such blood mages. "I would do the same to you, Merrill." The elf smiled at this. _What a strange thing to smile at, to be satisfied I would kill her if I must._

Merrill moved closer to Hawke, her knees touching Hawke's. As always, any sort of physical contact made the Feraldan uncomfortable and she tried to move back, but Merrill's hand closed around her wrist, and then she took the other one as well. Hawke wanted to complain, tensed up, ready to forcefully withdraw, but Merrill spoke up. "If you do not trust me, then we might as well stop. You must relax, and let me show you. You must work with me, not against me."

Hawke gritted her teeth and gradually relaxed. She did not voice that she trusted Merrill. She could not. She trusted no one. Merrill let go of her wrists, and straightened her left arm. It all happened very quickly now. She cut a long line into her left arm, a shallow cut, but it bled profusely. Some dripped onto the floor, some onto Hawke's leg, because Merrill held the arm her way. Just blood, as she had seen a thousand times before, in all of her fights.

The elf took control. The blood no longer trickled down her arm, it rose into the air. A swirling vortex of red, the eye of a storm. It swirled around Merrill, like a second armor. The elf was suddenly covered in thick layers of rock, looking like one of those frightening golems they had seen in the Deep Roads. And then, she was gone. Moments later she reappeared, right where she had been before, literally rising from the ground. Hawke had never seen her use this skill before.

Hawke's throat was parched, and she felt so dizzy. She never paid much attention to what the others were doing in a fight, but being so close to Merrill using her blood magic wreaked havoc with her. Hawke's hands were shaking, and she felt like she had goose bumps all over her body. Even her breasts hurt, every nerve ending seemed sensitive to this easy display of power.

"You don't draw your power from the Fade. You draw it from life itself. It will draw all the creatures of the Fade to you, because they crave life so much, but it is in your hands to control it. At first, you have to find out how deep you need to cut, and how much blood to use. The first couple times, it should just be pinpricks. Droplets. Then gradually more." Merrill's Rock Armor had faded and she was seated comfortably again. Her cut was still bleeding, albeit it was a mere trickle now. The elf dabbed at it with a clean cloth she had held in her lap.

It was all this power that sang to her that made Hawke respond very uncharacteristically. She reached out and touched Merrill's arm. Her fingertips slowly slid over the inside of her arm, and then halted as her fingers came to touch Merrill's blood. A droplet was on her index finger, and she removed her hand, marveling at this touch of life blood. Just for a moment she focused, and tried to feel its power. It hit her so hard that she felt she was choking. _So close, I only need to reach out now, and I will feel power I have never known before._

That was until she felt the sharp sting of a slap to the face. Hawke's eyes focused, and her hand was yanked roughly by Merrill, wiping the blood from her finger. "Don't you ever dare do that again. That was my blood. You haven't learned a thing yet. I might as well end teaching you now, you bloody idiot."

Hawke's face was burning, with pain, and with shame. She was certain that the print of all five fingers would be visible on her face if she had a mirror. Thankfully, the eluvian was a blind mirror. She didn't know what to say. The Dalish was bristling with anger. What to say. _Am I losing control this easily? If she had touched me like this before, I would have killed her. But I deserved it._

"I am sorry, Merrill. So sorry." She stumbled through the words, visibly and audibly shaken. She was not used to apologizing, she was the least apologetic person in Kirkwall, she was sure. But that had been wrong. "Forgive me." She meant it.

It was her first lesson in humility.  


* * *

That night, Hawke lay in her large bed in Hightown, utterly unable to sleep but exhausted in body and mind. Merrill had been so angry, and it had taken her a while to calm down. After that, they had talked, trying to get to the bottom of the matter, of Hawke's strong reaction to Merrill's display of power. Her first lesson was to control her thirst to use the power that was available, before she would be able to wield her own.

It was past nightfall when she left, and she stumbled more than walked to Hightown, ignorant of the puddles. After a long cold bath, she expected to fall asleep within seconds.

She didn't. Her body still felt like it was humming with power, but there was something else. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself. Her dark hair was matted to her forehead , sweeping across her eyes. She was wearing the clingy shift again. No, she was removing it. She was naked. She smiled wickedly. _What, I never smile like that!_ It was like being watched by someone else.

She must be dreaming. She flushed, ashamed, because in her dream, Merrill came to her. Cute, awkward Merrill, so adept at using magic, so adept at using... _Maker, what is she doing with her tongue?_ First it was just kisses, gentle, then not gentle anymore. Deep and consuming. Excruciatingly sweet. _Does she really taste like this?_

They both hungrily devoured each other, and it didn't end at kisses. Merrill was caressing her all over, until all her senses were reeling. Then it changed, and now it was Hawke who did the touching and kissing, with skill and experience that was so absolutely alien to Hawke. _I did not know you could do this_. She had never, she would never. There was no room for desire in her life, beyond the feeling of safety and power.

She opened her eyes, wanting to get rid of the images that danced on her mind. The tips of her breasts were so pert that it was painful. Pleasurably painful. Blood rushed in her ears, thrumming loudly, and a throbbing was consuming her. She tried to channel magic, to cool herself down, but ice was so far gone from her mind, all she knew was fire right now.

Finally she gave in, to both actions that called to her. She closed her eyes, and Merrill's soft voice promised her pleasures untold, whispering in her ear. Her hand slid down between her legs, and soon she bucked her hips with release, flooding her body with even more heat.

She felt like crying. Was she already losing herself to a desire demon? She hadn't even started her work yet. Hawke threw an arm above her eyes, gnashing her teeth. _No weakness. It can't be. Maybe it's a drive all people have. I should not have let her touch me. I shouldn't have touched her. I never will again._ It hadn't even felt like her own thoughts.

When she finally fell asleep, and dreams haunted her, she ran endlessly, Carver always at her tail. She was a child again, but then grew while running, and before her, screaming, was Bethany, driven into the arms of a towering ogre by her fleeing sister. _Noooo, Bethany, don't go! Please stay with me. I can't bear to lose you again. Please, sweet sister._

In the morning it felt like tears had dried on her face. She had not dreamed of Bethany in years. She never even allowed herself to think of her sister.

She felt defeated before she had even started using blood magic.


	3. Chapter 3

Another humid day was hanging heavy over Lowtown when Hawke cut across this part of Kirkwall, on her way to the alienage. Her mind was troubled. She had gone into this whole experience so full of confidence, and now the previous day had shaken her.

The door to Merrill's house was open and she stepped inside, immediately unbuttoning her coat. She felt her hair matted to her forehead with perspiration. _I know what that looks like now_. She brushed the hair aside, having it no longer sweeping across her eyes. She sternly parted the sweat-damp hair. She had chosen to wear a less formfitting shift today underneath her coat, hanging on her like a bag. She didn't even understand why but after last night's waking dream she wasn't taking any risks.

Merrill heard her arrival and walked into the front room, smiling at her brightly. "Ah, there you are! Isn't it really muggy today? I wonder why this kind of weather is called muggy, do you know? Are there more muggings than usual on muggy days? I really wonder. I should ask the next thief who tries to mug me." She sat down at one of her hexagonal tables, indicating for Hawke to join her.

Hawke did not though. She remained standing, her hands white-knuckled around the back of a chair. She didn't deem to respond to Merrill's ridiculous words. _Did she really believe such a thing? Who talks to a thief?_ Irritation flared. Hawke had other worries.

"What's the first sign of demonic activity? How would you recognize that a desire demon tries to possess you?" Hawke pressed out the words, bile rising in her throat. She had been full of terror this morning and was struggling to suppress it. As mental exercise she imagined a flawless shell of ice around herself. She calmed down.

Merrill squinted, then shook her head. "You can't get possessed from just watching another blood mage at work. You are not that weak." She rose, moving towards Hawke, who immediately took a step backward. _She cannot touch me. She must not._ "Why are you asking, Hawke? What happened?" She took Hawke by her arm and did not let go when the taller woman tried to shake her off. "Tell me now, or I will not even think about continuing."

Hawke exhaled painfully, straining against Merrill's touch. "Let me go, now. Do. Not. Touch. Me." She had put fear into people's hearts with her words, but the elf did not let go. Their eyes were dueling to the death, sharp, piercing gazes on both sides. Merill finally let go of her arm. Hawke moved to rub it, convinced there would be a bruise there. How did one petite elf have so much power? How did she dare defy her so?

"When I tried to fall asleep, I couldn't, because I was assaulted with endless images of..." Hawke was screaming inside, but her icy shell was muffling her screams, they never got outside. Merrill hung upon her lips. "Maker, I saw you and I, performing all sorts of depravity, and I welcomed it. It must have been a desire demon, there is no other explanation. I do not ever experience such thoughts, such thinking."

Merrill looked shell-shocked, covering her mouth with her palm. She turned her back on Hawke, a flood of elvhen words on her lips. She finally turned back, staring at Hawke uncomfortably. Her cheeks were burning. "Elgarnan, I did not know. Your affinity seems beyond comparison. I know what you saw."

And she did. She went into detailed explanation of what Hawke had seen, and then finally added hastily "It's not depravity, by the way. I could show you depravity!" She quickly covered her mouth with her hand now. "Shut up, Merrill, just be quiet," she mumbled past her fingers, eyes wide and apologetic.

Hawke brushed that aside, shaking her head in confusion. "How do you know this? You can't tell me that every student of blood magic sees exactly that?" She sat down numbly, still full of questions. _If they did, Isabela would want to be a blood mage, somehow._

Merrill paced in circles. "There was a reason I made you stop when you were trying to use my blood. Like a child, reaching for the closest toy, seeking possession." Tin soldiers, grabbed. She walked around Hawke's chair, back and forth, back and forth. "Blood is potent, lethallan. Not only is it a source of power for our spells, but it comes with more possibilities. I have not bothered with it because it is of no scientific interest for me, but blood allows you to infiltrate and control the thoughts of others. There is an affinity to those whose blood you used if you wish to exercise it. You can also achieve a connection to their dreams, finding their sleeping minds." She paused, staring at Hawke, waiting for a reaction.

Keep your calm, Hawke. Her icy veneer was not wavering now as she stared at Merrill. "Does it require the blood of whoever you are looking to control or visit in their dreams?" The elf nodded. The silence between them was awkward as they stared at each other. Thin lines appeared on her forehead, until she finally snapped, standing "You bloody dreamed of me like that? That was your bloody dream? Maker, help me!" This could not really be happening.

A smile actually played around Merrill's lips and she looked down at her feet. She finally cleared her throat. "I thought it was quite pleasant, but I can see how you might not agree." She tapped a finger against the bridge of her nose. "I have good news: the connection will fade in time." She then gave Hawke a challenging look, and another of her quirky smiles. "The bad news: it will be some time, and I can guarantee you that there will be more such dreams. You are quite breathtaking, and this teaching requires a lot of physical proximity." She tilted her head, studying Hawke quizzically. "The choice is yours. Continue, despite obviously being discomfited by it, or give up now. But know this!" Merrill's green eyes were incredibly challenging. Why had she ever thought she was soft and weak? "It was your own incredibly bad judgment to take my blood without my permission. It was your own failure. You were a fool. Don't put this on my own shoulders."

Hawke wanted to grab and shake her, for being so insulting and arrogant instead of being kind, apologetic and soft. At the same time she wanted to grab her and place a searing kiss on her lips, and then drag her down with her, doing all the things her mind had seen. _She can show me depravity, she said_. Maker, what was she thinking now?

Her face never betrayed her inner turmoil, because it wouldn't do. She merely nodded her acquiescence and cooly stated, "I shall stay and learn, teacher." She couldn't even speak her name.  


* * *

"How do you steel yourself against the pain?" Sharp pinpricks were felt on all five fingertips of her right hand as Merrill broke her skin with a needle. She took each finger and squeezed out one drop of blood. Hawke's throat was parched. It looked so sensuous, Merrill's long fingers lightly squeezing. It stung. What if Merrill kissed the pain away? Her luscious lips, enclosing her fingertips, her mouth moist and warm, gently sucking and nipping, drawing the finger in deeper into her delicious mouth.  
Hawke stepped onto her own foot with the heel of the other boot, grinding down. The pain made the debauched imagery stop, made Hawke focus on what was before her. Five drops of blood, one on each fingertip, ready at her disposal. Merrill sharply said "Focus, Hawke. Your mind has to be here, and you need full control. As for the pain, you get used to it. You will work with the blood so quickly and steadily, you won't feel it anymore."

Merrill wiped her own hands with a cloth, making sure none of Hawke's blood was on her. "Light the fireplace. You do quite well with fire spells, don't you? But remember, this will be powerful."

Hawke held her staff in her other hand, and then turned towards the fireplace. She raised her staff, then knocked it down on the floor, the droplets of blood a red swirl of power. It was hardly any blood at all, but the fireplace roared, the wood popping from the excess heat. It was far too warm in here for such a summer day. She extinguished the fire just as easily, with a focused cone of cold before her.

She had never tapped into the Fade for power, she had merely used that blood, those five little drops of blood. Merrill looked pleased. "Very well, Hawke. Maybe it's time to move beyond needles." Hawke nodded, heaving an inward sigh of relief. It was good for more than stupid lustful thoughts after all.  


* * *

Merrill had whispered to her, had asked affirmation before she cut Hawke's forearm. Now she was singing with power, shaping the blood, funneling it into her system to create powerful spells. She would light another fire. She focused, and hurled, and then got knocked on her back by the backlash. She dully heard Merrill's scream, then crawled forward, covering the inferno of the fireplace with icicles.

When they took in the damage afterwards, Merrill was bleeding from her temple. She dabbed angrily at it. The heat had cracked the chimney, and the fire had burned one of her tables and the books that had been on top of it. "Stupid, careless, greedy Hawke. You have no control. This never happened to me. I never bit off more than I could chew. Just because it's there doesn't mean you need to consume it all in one try!" She ran a hand through her hair, tugging angrily. She looked scared and hurt and angry, and Hawke felt like hugging her. _No, Merrill wants me to hug her, I don't hug people._

Hawke was so disappointed in herself. The past couple days Merrill had taught her much. How to cut properly, either palm or forearm. How to funnel the blood's power into her and use it. Yet, it never seemed like enough. There was so much power. She wanted to learn specific blood magic spells, but Merrill merely shook her head firmly. "You do not have sufficient control and skill yet. Later. Learn the proper use first."

So here she was, having demolished Merrill's house with reckless use of blood magic, and it wasn't even any magic that she hadn't used before. Merrill was right to scold her.

It was yet another lesson in humility. The taste of those lessons were far too bitter for Hawke to enjoy.  


* * *

Nights were difficult. Most days that were spent at Merrill's house required such intense focus, and so much internal restraint that Hawke felt like a husk when she came home. She found herself ravenous most nights. Was that why Merrill seemed to burn so brightly like a flame and always looked too sharp and bony? Hawke often brought her extra food now.  
When Hawke lay in bed, she tried to sleep very early. If she was lucky, she fell asleep before Merrill and never woke up again that night, and thus she didn't touch her dreams. On bad days she was shaken very badly by the impact of Merrill's fantasies about her. For all that she had so successfully suppressed any fleshly desires all her life, she could no longer do that. It was nearly impossible to separate her own lust from Merrill's in those long nights. Where did Merrill's dreams begin and what was her own? She had never been with anyone, much less a woman, and yet she felt so intimately familiar with the process.

On some days it was nearly impossible to focus on Merrill's words and actions because she was so badly haunted by their nights. She was grateful for the nights that Merrill had different dreams, random images, normal dreams like Hawke was used to, instead of those sweaty fantasies where both of them screamed in ecstasy.

In all nights, Hawke felt like she was standing at this deep chasm that was beckoning her forward. She tried to fight its pull at all times, fighting as she had all her life, but she couldn't resist. Merrill whispered in her ear, delightful, licentious words, and Hawke approached that chasm, and then took the plunge. Quite literally, really.  


* * *

The night after the destruction of Merrill's fireplace was different. Hawke tried to drift to sleep, knowing that she would soon feel the touch of Merrill's dreams. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact, but instead of seeing herself in various state of undress, she saw the Dalish camp on Sundermount. She walked amongst the Dalish, and approaching every single one, they turned from her. She didn't know all the faces, but some seemed vaguely familiar, if only from Merrill's tales.

The hunters Feneral and Ineria watched her approach. She felt her face pull into a bright smile, and then knew it was Merrill who approached them. She would never smile at anyone like this. Not if they stared at her with so much hostility. Merrill was almost with them, but just as she got there, they turned away.

Master Ilen, Pol, the Keeper, even Feynriel, they all turned away at her approach. Merrill was there, all on her own. All by herself. Despair rolled off her in waves. She had no one.

Hawke cried into her pillow, deep sobs that came from deep within, that made her shoulders heave. She hadn't consciously cried since childhood, as she locked all her pain inside of her and then burnt it with anger, but this night she cried. For poor Merrill, and for herself, for all the lonely people out there in the soulless, cold city of Kirkwall.  


* * *

"I didn't really want to walk all this way to watch a sunset." Hawke snapped this irritably at Merrill who stared out to the west, watching the sun lower itself into the sea, a giant fiery ball of illumination. The elf had not told her why they had decided to go to the coast today instead of studying at the house.

Unsurprisingly they were attacked by wild mabari, which didn't really prove to be any match for the two of them. Merrill looked incessantly pleased with herself. "How lovely the sunset is. You really must relax a lot more, Hawke." She sounded so cheerful, so bright. She was so pretty. _How can you be this cheerful and lovely, when at night you are so lonely and sad?_

The Sundermount dream was recurring. They never talked about Merrill's dreams, and she had been right, their connection was fading now. Every night she saw less, felt less, and the only thing that was left on some nights were her own feelings of desire for the elf. Those would go away soon too, without the nightly sensory input it would clearly fade away. Some nights she felt pangs of regret, which then turned to anger. Blood magic had changed her, instead of making her stronger, it made her feel weaker in many respects. She felt contaminated by emotions, cold reason deserting her.

Why did Merrill have to look so pretty in the fading light of the sun? Hawke mused on that whereas the elf impatiently snapped her fingers. "Focus, Hawke, come back to me. Their lifeblood is rapidly fading. Come on, tap into your blood, make it freeze or something, and then I'll show you something new."

Hawke drew her fiery knife, which she had named Flame ( _another unreasonable thing to do, who names a knife?_ ), and cut into her left palm. She then proceeded to use a new spell Merrill had taught her and flung massive rocks at the mabari corpses, like a fist of stone. She had learned to assess the amount of power needed now for her actions, but the projectile still hit the mabari corpses with massive force, spraying both Merrill and Hawke with congealing blood.

"Enough. Make sure your hand doesn't stop bleeding." Merrill carelessly wiped at some of the blood on her face, and then took a deep breath, relaxing. "Reach out now, with your senses. Do you see all this blood? It's still warm, though life's gone now. You can still use the residual power of the blood. Tap into it. Do you feel it?"

Hawke closed her eyes, focusing. Yes. There was blood. Traces of warmth. Traces of life, quickly fading. She was ready to reach out and take it, when Merrill's voice made her halt. Merrill was close, touching her arm. She no longer shied from the physical contact. On some days she welcomed it. Her eyes remained shut, but she listened intently.

"You have two options here. You could either raise those poor, dead Mabari. That would be bad. That would be something blood mages who are losing control are doing. The other option is to hold on to the last vestiges of life in that blood, and use it to heal yourself. Can you tell the difference? Can you feel the difference?" Merrill clung to her side, her voice right by her ear. Hawke put her right arm around Merrill's shoulders and then reached out with her mind. When she opened her eyes, she saw the blood, channeling into her. She looked at her hand, at the gash in her palm, and saw it knit, saw it close. She had robbed those corpses of their last energy. When she stopped, she held her palm to Merrill, who looked incredibly pleased. "Well done, Hawke."

Hawke realized how close they were and quickly distanced herself from Merrill, balling her right hand into a fist. "I have gotten better at control." She was pleased at herself, but she didn't let it show, aside from her balled fist that she was shaking.

"You have. Which I think deserves some real celebration." Merrill laughed, kicking a crushed Mabari leg to the side, and then took Hawke's arm again, mindless of Hawke having sought distance from her. She was very disrespectful of her boundaries. She tore them down, she lowered them. Hawke hated and cherished it at the same time. They walked down a path until they were by a small beach. Several trees and bushes crowned a ridge before the dunes descended to the beach. "Alright, here's your reward. I know you are always chomping at the bite. No...white. Light? I don't understand your manners of speaking, not all of them. Chomping at the light, yes?"

Hawke shook her head, but where once irritation would have flared she was now vaguely amused. "Chomping at the bit. Like what horses have in their mouths, the bridle?" Understanding dawned in Merrill's eyes, and she nodded excitedly.

"I understand now. We use those for our halla! Chomping at the bit." Merrill was in such a lovely mood, even though it was hard to see her face now, as the last light of the sun was fading away, dusk washing over them. She drew her own knife now. "You always seek to use your power and hate holding back. Here you don't have to. You can't destroy anything but those rather dead trees. No one will miss them. I hope. It could be someone's favorite tree, but now it's yours. Burn it for me. For yourself."

Merrill's voice was pure seduction, a stronger song of allure than she had ever heard. If she whispered in her ear now, Hawke would faint from sheer desire. Was it desire for Merrill, or for the use of power? Or both? Or something else? Hawke took a shaky breath, and then cut again. Deeper than before, and it hurt. She didn't understand why Merrill said she wouldn't feel the pain, because it hurt so much. She held on to the blood with tears stinging at her eyes, yet never spilling from them, and then hurled fire at the tree. First a fireball, then a firestorm, and the fire flared brighter than any she had ever seen before. And there was so much power left. She couldn't stop, she just let it rush through her body, used it.

Next to her she heard the crackling of electricity, smelled the sharp ozone smell of lightning. Chains of lightning jumped from the husks of trees and shrub, then a storm descended on them, controlled by Merrill. Together they wreaked destruction over this landscape. Never holding back. How liberating.  


* * *

 _"You can never do anything like this again. Never. You must always control yourself." Hawke stared at her father with eyes open wide. Words were on her tongue, apologies, explanations._ Daddy, I was so scared of him hurting me. He always does. I am so tired of being tripped up, elbowed, kicked, just because I can use magic, and he can't. I am so tired of always running. Can I have friends? Why can we never stay long enough for me to have friends? I didn't ask for this, dad. Please, still love me, dad. _Such complex thoughts, too much for an 8-year old to express, just thoughts. "He is your brother, and you are an apostate mage. You cannot hurt people like that. You can't. It's wrong. You are the oldest, you have to be the strongest! You have to learn this."_ But I am only a child, I am not strong. _Her father turned her around and then started spanking her. Tears bit at her eyes, quietly overflowing, but she didn't cry. She had to be strong. Malcolm Hawke had said so. She would always hold back, for her family._  


* * *

She didn't hold back. If anyone else had seen the coastline, the beacon of fire and lightning would have been clearly visible for miles. It illuminated the night as the two mages celebrated their powers. Hawke threw her head back as she raised her arms to the sky, letting another firestorm roll over the ridge. She laughed, an insouciant, free sound, and Merrill laughed with her.

It was the happiest Hawke had ever felt. Nothing came even close. They looked at each other and laughed, carefree and joyously.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based this chapter on one of my favorite songs:
> 
>  _And you're watching me die  
>  Right in front of your eyes  
> And if you turned your back on me  
> I wouldn't be surprised_
> 
>  _There's no new story to tell  
>  It's every man for himself  
> As brick by brick  
> We construct our own personal hell_
> 
> Assemblage 23 - Collapse

Hawke guided Merrill by her elbow as they walked through Hightown. It was after dark on a crisp fall evening, so aside from a few patrolling guards, there were few people about . People in Hightown led orderly lives, in their mansions with their tall walls, with neatly planted flowerpots by the columned or arched entrances. The Hawke mansion had no flowerpots outside, only a heraldic shield above the wooden gate.

"These flowers will look so lovely in a vase!" Merrill had plucked them with abandon as they walked through Hightown, it was sheer luck that none of the city guards had noticed, nor any of the noblemen. Kirkwall nobility was the prickly kind, like one of the roses that Merrill had given her with careless glee. A red rose with thorns. How romantic. _How pathetic am I?_

Inside the mansion, the dining room table had been set for a late dinner. Leandra was already waiting impatiently. Hawke studied her mother closely. She had settled into life of nobility so easily, as was her birthright. Sometimes she even seemed happy. Sometimes she prattled on about finding a proper husband for Hawke, but ultimately she just seemed happy that she was back in her childhood home. _I never had one of those. Not like this._

Their relationship was not a close one, never had been. Hawke had always been so withdrawn, more Malcolm's child than Leandra's in attachment. After Bethany's death, the accusations had come flying. It was as it was. Hawke was the eldest, responsibility had always been on her shoulders since her father put it there. That was not to say that they didn't love each other. Hawke wanted to see her mother happy, with her limited means of emotional expression.

Dinner was exquisite, perfectly prepared by the elven servant, Orana, that Hawke somehow had acquired from Tevinter slavers. Hawke made sure that Merrill ate, ate lots in fact, because the more time she spent with her ( _the closer she is to my heart_ ), the more she knew the elf missed many meals while focusing on her work. The Merrill that was sitting here talking brightly, with all of her charming naivete was not the same Merrill that taught and studied magic.

After dinner, Leandra and the staff retired, leaving the two of them to sit before the fire, sipping on sweet port wine. It was a companionable silence. Merrill finally rose, and so did Hawke. "I should go, it's late." She always said that after dinner, and then Hawke would escort her back to the alienage, because Merrill inevitably was distracted or got lost, a burden of guilt that Hawke did not want to bear on her shoulders.

Their dream connection had faded in the last days of summer, and so had the desire, and the sadness. It made Hawke feel empty, and that was worse than not having known those two emotions before. The only emotion that had stayed with her, keeping her cold at night, was loneliness.

It was a spontaneous decision. "Stay." Hawke reached for Merrill's hand, pulling the elf towards her. "It's too late to go back now." To Lowtown. _From this path that I have been on for months_. Merrill tilted her head, a quizzical look on her face. Hawke felt the need to clarify. "Stay here, with me. It's cold tonight." Was that sufficient? Merrill looked surprised, and actually flustered. Hawke turned around and led Merrill upstairs, to her bedroom. The elf meekly followed.

The bedroom was bathed in darkness. The door closed, and all meekness was shrugged off when Merrill hugged her from behind and whispered in her ear. "Are you sure this is what you want?" Hawke shivered in those arms, then nodded assent. "Say it, Hawke," the voice whispered, the breath hot and intoxicating on her ear.

Hawke shuddered and then quietly, breathlessly said "I want you, Merrill." The elf laughed and kissed her ear, then flipped her around so that Hawke's back was pressed against the bedroom door. This was Merrill, her teacher, not the rambling girl most people knew. In the darkness, Merrill slowly caressed Hawke's face while pressing the whole length of her body against the taller woman. She felt every line, the curve of her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, the shape of her lips with her fingertips. Such a delightful caress. Hawke was rigid, with nervousness and flickers of desire, descending her body like tendrils of fire.

"Lights." Merrill's thumb was on her lips, her other hand was on Hawke's pulse drumming wildly in her neck. The urge to kiss that thumb was overwhelming. "Lights, Hawke. I wish to see you." It finally dawned on Hawke what was asked of her, and she lit the wood in the fireplace, and every single candle in the room with a flicker of her magic. She looked at Merrill, her face now imbued with warm light, and her green eyes filled with a solemn sensuality. She never knew the elf had such long lashes on those fathomless, green eyes of hers. "Say it again, Hawke. Say it like you mean it. With conviction." Her hands were in Hawke's hair now, wrapping the curls around her fingers, sweeping the hair back from her face. Her body pressed into her, and she pushed her thigh against Hawke, causing her to whimper.

"I want you, Merrill." She stated it boldly, aggressively, the way she used to approach things in life. She said it without a smile. She said it with fervor. Hawke was rewarded with a searing kiss, her shoulders pushed hard against the door. Merrill stretched, kissing her with a thirst that was as fathomless as her eyes. Hawke tasted the sweet port wine on her lips, on her tongue, in her mouth, felt the elf's fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her ever closer. Her own hands finally sought the elf and ended up against her chest, surprised by the softness.

Merrill pulled back and looked up at her with a smile around her lips, a wicked smile. She looked at Hawke's hands on her breasts, her eyes challenging her to explore. All Hawke wanted to do was rip the clothing off her and feel them bare against her fingers. Her hands crawled to the neckline, ready to tear, but the elf danced away lithely, towards Hawke's bed. She teasingly coaxed Hawke to follow her, shedding a piece of clothing with every step she took backwards.

Hawke fell on top of Merrill onto the bed, feverish at the contact of all this tantalizing, bare skin under her fingers. The elf easily took off Hawke's clothing for her, always softly laughing at Hawke's eagerness, speaking encouragement. It frustrated her so. Hawke felt teased, mercilessly, when she was so hungry, so hungry for much more than laughter and whispered words.

She was taller, and now pinned Merrill down, her fingers digging into the elf's shoulder. "I already told you I want you. I want you to want me too. Stop talking." Merrill stared up at her and it was like a duel, as they confronted each other darkly. The elf no longer laughed.

"If that's how you want it, you shall have it." Merrill was above her again, with the surprising amount of strength that she had in her. They spoke no more, because once Merrill started trailing down kisses on her neck and shoulder, neither of them had enough breath. They clung to each other as if they were drowning. Hawke couldn't look, all she could do was squeeze her eyes shut to deal with the sensory input. Her body responded automatically, rising and falling with Merrill's, rubbing against her, gliding with her, like a ship on first smooth, then rougher waters. Soon, it was too much. It was much more than in her dream. She wanted to scream, but Merrill didn't let her. Everytime Hawke wanted to cry out because she couldn't bear it anymore, Merrill's lips were on hers, her mouth and tongue were stifling her screams, and all she could do was to moan heavily into her. Soon Merrill's hungry mouth was busy with other things, but her fingers found Hawke's lips, sensually sliding between them. She couldn't have screamed for her life, as her tongue danced around those fingers, nipping and sucking. She was taken possession of more thoroughly than she had ever imagined it.

She had never felt so alive. She had never felt so close to dying before. She was dying right before Merrill's eyes, only the elf couldn't see it. How could she ever let go of this? She struggled against the elf, near expired with exhaustion, grasping for some kind of control, but Merrill didn't grant her any. Her green eyes held nothing but challenge, as she moved up to kiss Hawke, drawing her last breath from her. Her hands were so relentless, holding her down and driving her insane with every stroke. She turned her head, moved it to the elf's shoulder, and bit down, her nails digging into the soft, pale skin of the Dalish's back. She felt the skin break under her touch, she felt her world collapsing, and her only escape, her only redemption was the liquid on her fingertips, from the scratches on Merrill's shoulders. It came so naturally to her now, to focus, to tap into that power. To feel all that again and more, to be more than a husk. To have a real connection.

Merrill yelled in anger and rage, beating Hawke's hands aside, jumping up and out of bed. She wiped at her back, and then went back to Hawke, drumming her fists against her in a furious rage. "How could you? How could you use me like this? How can you abuse this power so?" She was crying, bitter sobs. "How could you violate me so?" She shook Hawke who was limp with fear and shame, then pushed her back into the sheets. She grabbed her clothing, and left, only half-dressed, but desperate to escape.

Hawke felt her rage, seething in her like fire. She knew it was not her own, she had no reason to be angry. It was all Merrill. Rage, fear and so much pain. She covered her face with her hands, Merrill's blood still red lines under her fingernails. She hadn't looked for rage, she had enough of her own. It was not what she had wanted. How could one night go from precious to completely wrong?  


* * *

Merrill refused to see her. She would not open her door to her, and Merrill's closest friend Isabela refused to assist Hawke. "I don't know what the two of you are playing at, but Merrill doesn't want to see you. You probably were an ass to her, not treating her with the respect she deserves. She has a good heart, you know!" _Unlike me, I know. Trust me, I know better than anyone else._ Isabela was poking Hawke's ribs hard with a finger, and Hawke impatiently slapped her hand aside. No one accepted her boundaries anymore.

None of the others were any help either. Hawke drank with despair in their nights at the Hanged Man, and even the companions noticed that their leader was nurturing some kind of heartache. How she hated their sympathetic looks and whispered words amongst each other. On assignments, she was merciless as ever, colder, more determined. She never used blood magic. It was her secret weapon, should she ever need more power. She carried Flame sheathed at her belt. She had not used any blood since Merrill left her.

At night, she curled up in a ball, and woefully longed for the days when Merrill had dreamed of her and carnal pleasures. All she felt now was anger still, but mostly overwhelming sadness and loneliness. Most nights she saw the mirror that was blind, sometimes the mirror would display the face of a Dalish woman, and it felt like her heart would rip in her chest, so much did seeing her hurt. _Who is she? What has she done to you? Why do you never see me anymore, Merrill?_  


* * *

"Are you sure Merrill left a message for me, Bodahn?" It seemed so unlikely. It had been several months since their last contact. The connection had faded away again. Sometimes Hawke had pondered using the connection to will Merrill back to her, but that would be even more violation than she had already committed.

She approached the writing desk with hesitation. Would it be one of her silly notes that she used to write, about watering her flowers? If only. But no, it was a relatively formal request to come see her in the alienage. The letter had barely landed back on the desk by the time Hawke rushed out of the front door.  


* * *

Merrill was rather no nonsense. There were no smiles between them, no tearful apologies, no falling on her knees to beg forgiveness. Those were scenarios that had all entered her mind to be scratched out again, foolish actions that wouldn't accomplish anything. Hawke didn't understand how she could reach forgiveness. If she were Merrill, she would stab Hawke in the heart and leave her to die. She would enjoy driving the knife.

Her imagination was running away with her, as was her self-loathing. Hawke sat down to seriously look at Merrill's face. She was so lovely. She looked as concentrated as when... _Stop thinking about that, it will never happen again._ She was suffocating with guilt and was convinced she would be unable to speak any word. "I have come to understand you need assistance with a task, Merrill." Her voice sounded strained as she pushed those words out between her teeth.

The Dalish nodded, worrying at her bottom lip. "My work on the eluvian has stalled, and I need a tool from the Dalish, to continue my work. The Keeper is bound to not give me this tool, which is why I would like to have your assistance. She respects you." For whatever reason, Merrill's expression clearly dictated. _They all don't know me. Only Merrill does. I don't deserve respect._

"Will our debt be settled, if I assist you?" For Hawke it was a debt, her actions. It was a stupid question, because no payment would ever be high enough. Merrill stared at her dumbfounded.

"Creators, what debt are you speaking of? Listen, Hawke, we don't owe each other anything. I don't trust you anymore, which is why I am not seeing you nor teaching you. The only thing I am asking for old times' sake is that you aid me with this. You know it is important to me." _You just want to see that woman clearly._ It lay thickly on Hawke's tongue, but instead of saying it, she nodded. She did know how important it was to her.

"I shall ask Aveline and Isabela to come with us." Merrill looked pleased enough with the choice of companions. The enmity between Merrill, Fenris and Anders was too large, a gulf not to be bridged. It did not help they envied the elf for her closer connection to Hawke.  


* * *

In retrospect, Hawke was grateful for her gut choice of having Isabela along. The pirate was the only one able to comfort Merrill after the varterral's death, after Merrill cried over Pol's shattered body. She was grateful for Isabela, and yet so jealous. She envied them their easy friendship, and the ease with which Isabela was able to soothe her with caring terms of endearment. Hawke's emotions were all bottled up like an icy rock inside her throat. Nothing got past. She was at the end of her rope, always slipping.

She channeled her rage into Marethari as she tried to comfort Merrill the only way Hawke knew: through cold aggression. She handwaved all of Marethari's explanations and condemnations of blood magic. "You have no idea how powerful your First is. You have no idea. She knows what she is doing. She deserves your trust and that of your clan, not this constant doubting. She is doing this for the Dalish, why do I understand this and you don't? I am giving her the arulin'holm, end of discussion." It felt like the longest speech Hawke had held in her life. She was pleased that Marethari actually flinched.

When they headed back to Kirkwall, Merrill had the safely wrapped arulin'holm tucked under her arm, walking with bowed head. Hawke wanted to hold her and inhale all her pain into herself, to spare her.  


* * *

Hawke bid Merrill to join her in one of the sitting rooms of the mansion, not daring to take her to her bedroom. Too many memories. Pleasant ( _oh, the pleasure_ ) and unpleasant. They had no history in this sitting room. Hawke felt that Merrill looked strained, drawn, sleepless. She found herself longing for their connection. "What can I do for you today?" It was an honest question. If Merrill needed something from her, she would have it, no matter the cost.

"Why did you do it?" Merrill remained standing and just rushed those words out, looking at Hawke more sadly than she ever had before.

Hawke sat down, defeated already. "Why did I do what?" Her eyebrows itched, or just made a perfect excuse for covering her eyes with her hand.

"How can you say the things you told Marethari, saying such wonderful things about me as if you cared, when you cannot even give yourself to me without betraying me. Why did you betray me? I thought you wanted to be with me!" All that Merrill had kept to herself for all these months of distance between them, it now came up, so clear on her face. Hawke remembered feeling all the resentment and loss and hopelessness, and she covered her face fully now.

"Merrill, you do not understand. No one knows me." Hawke took a deep breath, imagining her icy armor, but it kept breaking and melting. "No one ever allowed me to feel. I certainly didn't allow myself. It's a weakness that I purged long ago." She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face on them. "And then I thought I would best protect myself from the templars by learning to use blood magic, because you would be so easy to manipulate and much better to get along with than a demon, hah." Her laughter was bitter. "Only that you are not to be manipulated at all, and you are so bloody strong and principled." She pulled at the hem of her skirt and then looked at Merrill with all the sadness she usually kept hidden inside of her. "It was an accident, the first time, a blind and greedy child grabbing for a toy. You were right. But that one drop of your blood, it was a spark. I was a dry husk, and suddenly I felt. Your lust and your pain, and your happiness and your loneliness. When it was gone, I felt dead."

She balled her hands to fists, nails digging into her palms. She was not ready to concede defeat, Hawke would not cry. "When you were with me that night, I felt so alive, and I felt like you would leave me for sure, turn your back on me, and then what would I feel? I didn't do it consciously. I just wanted to feel you again. I missed you. I miss you."

Merrill listened to this with a serious face, and then sat down opposite of Hawke. Very matter-of-factly, she stated "I miss you too," and stretched out her arm, her hand coming to rest in Hawke's lap. Her palm was upturned. "Give me your hand." She pulled Hawke's hand into her lap, then turned it up as well. "I won't say that I understand you. I won't say that I do not care. A spark it might have been, but amongst embers, Hawke. You are such a good person, who wears this mask of rage and indifference. You have the kindest heart of us all. I want the mask to come off. Fair is fair." From out of nowhere, she produced her work knife and then cut her own palm. "It's yours to have and use," she indicated with a nod. She then handed her knife to Hawke, waiting.

Without hesitation, Hawke cut her palm that was still resting in Merrill's lap. "Yours." She did not even feel the pain of it. She was already tapping into the sweet siren song of Merrill's blood. She gasped when she felt a warm touch to her soul, and then their connection was reciprocal. She could only look at Merrill in silent wonder, and receive silent wonder in return. Merrill rose, and lightly touched her bleeding hand to Hawke's face, kissing her lips ever so gently. Hawke reached for her face, leaving her own bloody hand print, wanting to pull her closer, but the elf withdrew, and then hurriedly departed.

Hawke felt shattered, confused, and relieved, a wild combination of emotions she could not identify. What a heady mix. What a mess to sort out.


	5. Chapter 5

When Hawke woke up, she felt battered and bruised, if not physically, then emotionally. She was barely awake, then it all came back to her. Merrill had come to the estate, they had exchanged blood, and then she had left again. There was something else, something that nagged at her. _-Creators, Hawke, how can you be so sad?-_ She put a hand to her mouth and stifled a sob that did not feel like her own. She blindly got dressed and stumbled towards Lowtown, looking barely presentable.

After knocking on Merrill's door, the door flung open. A distraught elf pulled her inside and then launched herself at Hawke, holding on to her desperately. While Hawke did actually cherish this physical contact, it was still awkward for her. Merrill's hair was tickling her throat, her breath warm on her collarbone. It took her at least a minute before she actually started hugging Merrill back, patting her shoulders. "What's going on, Merrill?" she murmured.

The Dalish stepped back, to take Hawke's hands. "It's not your fault, Hawke. You really have to think that. Believe me. It's not your fault." Hawke was so confused.

"If you mean the blood..." Merrill shook her head and then dragged Hawke over to a seat. "What then?"

Lacing the fingers of her right hand with Hawke's, Merrill gently stated "I felt it. You never meant to hurt your brother. It was self-defense. I think every young mage has to learn that lesson." She tilted her head. "I actually smashed a squirrel with a rock spell. I was so frightened, I thought a beast had come from the forest to devour us all. I think I was five. The Keeper scolded me, but then she helped me figure this out. I had not been training that long with her. I was so young! But she also hugged me and made sure that I was alright. Self-defense is not a bad thing. Mindless aggression is. You are not mindlessly aggressive, Hawke. You are a survivor, that's what you are." How gentle little Merrill looked, and how much care was in her eyes when she spoke about the Keeper. _She misses her clan so_.

Hawke's world was crashing down around her. She shook her head. It was too much to comprehend. Her mind was numb, but her lips were not. "He hates me. Carver hates me. Since then, and before. Because I am a mage. Because of the fire. I never wanted such a relationship with my own brother. I never wanted to spend my life running from him. I try to think...I try to think if there was ever a point where we just loved each other, but all I see is that day. All the connection between us, it was severed that day." She wanted to cry, but she still did not dare to. _And then the day she died, a wall was built, separating us forever._

Merrill moved her chair closer, held both hands of hers now. "It's alright, Hawke. It's alright." She meant it, Hawke felt it with every word, wrapped into a layer of warmth inside. _How does she do this?_ "You also didn't kill your sister. Please stop thinking that." Hawke tensed, nearly withdrawing her hands, but Merrill held on. "You. Did. Not. Kill. Her." Slowly spoken, with emphasis. Hawke was ready to run, run, run, run, from here and from everything. She would not speak about Bethany with anyone, not even to herself in her own mind.

The elf did not let go, just held her hands and absorbed her pain. Their eyes were locked on each other persistently, never wavering, never faltering. It was Hawke who looked away. In a voice that didn't even sound like her own, she heard herself say "Bethany was the beacon of our family, the heart that held it together. We all loved her. She was so gentle in nature. When Carver stomped on bugs, for fun, she would cry, and he'd never do it again. She made everyone just smile." Kind of like Merrill, really. Hawke took a shaking breath. "Carver and I were always fighting, always struggling, and she was there to extinguish all the anger between us. We couldn't fight when she was there. And it was good."

She looked down at Merrill's hands holding her own. It looked so fine. Her own hands were larger, though still very feminine, but Merrill's had longer, more delicate fingers, full of a grace of their own. She held on to those fingers, as she continued. "She hated her magic. She didn't want anything to do with it. My father was an apostate as well, and he taught both of us. He was a very stern teacher, who always instilled into our hearts that being a mage meant running. It came naturally to me, the magic, but Bethany was scared. She didn't want any part of it. She hated the flight from the templars, the constant changes to accommodation and the way we lived. She just wanted to stay in one place and live her life. We all did. Lothering was the best time of her life, I think. She had so many friends. She was devout, I think in a different life she would have joined the Chantry as sister."

Her stomach turned when she thought of the next part, and now she had to hold on painfully, her knuckles white with strain. Merrill's fingers were crushed in her hands, and yet she never even flinched. "When the darkspawn came, when we ran, I yelled at her. I screamed, I yelled, I drove her on. I taunted, I made her angry. You know how I am. I still treat people like that." It was the only form of motivation she had ever learned. "She would never have gone headfirst into the darkspawn, if it hadn't been for me. The ogre would never have grabbed her, but for me. The brightest light in this world, extinguished, because I was so...so...STUPID!" She jumped up, kicking her chair back, full of self-loathing that transferred into anger.

Merrill didn't let her rage. She followed Hawke as she stomped across the front room of the house, and wrapped her arms around her from behind. She held on with all that she had. "Hawke, stop it." It was a struggle, until Hawke stood still. "Listen, Hawke. If the ogre had not taken your sister, it might have been your mother, or your brother, or Aveline or even you. Would that have been better? Do you really think so?" Hawke nodded. "What if you had not been there to kill that ogre? You are an exceptionally strong mage. What if it had been you? What if it would have meant the others were to perish too? Would this have been better?" She walked around and touched Hawke's face, looking up at her.

Hawke took another shaking breath and closed her eyes, relaxing into Merrill's touch. "You have to let go, Hawke. What ifs will not heal you. They won't change anything. You cannot turn back time. You can live and learn and go on with life. Don't suffocate on your guilt, lethallan."

Hawke's eyes opened, boring into Merrill's. "What about her? The Dalish girl from your dreams, the one you are trying to see in the eluvian. Are there any hidden what ifs there?" She felt Merrill flinch, both physically and in her mind, but she didn't let go.

"Her name was Mahariel. She found the eluvian when it still contained the taint. She died from it. Only a Grey Warden would have been able to save her. Like Aveline's husband, I suppose." There was pain in Merrill's eyes, but also determination to share. "I loved her. Of course she is my what if. What if she had lived? What if we had never found the eluvian? What if what I am doing here is completely pointless? It can help me with obtaining knowledge of my people that will help us all, but it can never do the one thing I wanted most when I started on this path. It cannot bring her back. I can only move on, and pray to the Creators that I am actually making the right choices. I probably don't, but..." Her smile was sad.

Hawke leaned down to kiss the sadness away. The kiss was short yet sweet. After that, she let Merrill hold her, crying as she tried to let go of her sister's death and all the many years of guilt. It was extremely draining, and yet so cleansing.  


* * *

"Andraste's teats, alert the guards." Hawke stopped walking at those words of Varric, arching her brows in alarm, reaching for the staff on her back. So were the others, all stopping, in a dark and particularly smelly alley in Darktown. They had just returned from Anders' clinic to get patched up after a particularly vicious fight with Coterie henchmen.

"What's going on?" Aveline's jaw was tense as she looked around. "I don't see anything amiss, dwarf." She shrugged and stared down at him.

He pointed up at Hawke. "Look at her. Something's not right. Hawke, feared apostate and renowned hero in Kirkwall, with a smile on her face. This never happens." Aveline and Isabela turned to look at the mage who gave Varric a wide-eyed stare. It was undeniable that her lips were actually locked into a smile. She couldn't help herself. It was too hard not to.

The downside of this blood connection she shared with Merrill was that it didn't really just mean dreams anymore. They both were usually aware of each other whenever either of them felt strong emotion. Hawke had no idea how her strong emotions affected Merrill. She had seemed a bit tense and prone to actually snapping at people when they did their subtle barbs of how awkward and silly Merrill could be in her naivete. "Kitten is a tiger now!" Isabela had proudly declared more than once and attributed the change to her fantastic influence. Maybe Hawke's anger rubbed off on her instead.

Hawke knew how it affected herself. Sometimes she felt so melancholic that she had to go sit in the yard of her estate for hours, sitting under a tree, feeling the bark under her hands, sensing the breeze on her face. Sometimes she felt sad and then often found herself in the alienage, giving coin to those city elves who were desperate enough to beg. She had errands run that she didn't need, and she actually had one elf boy who bought food for Merrill and then dropped it off on her doormat. Merrill was convinced that she had a secret admirer. Not so secret, really.

It turned her into a weakling sap, and Hawke didn't mind. Unless the others found out. That would be bad. For her reputation, and her personal sense of well-being.

Today, she felt happy, because Merrill was overjoyed with life as it was. It had something to do with sunlight and spring and birds coming to eat breadcrumbs from her hands. It involved butterflies and pigeons and flowers, and things of glorious brightness and Hawke couldn't help but smile at so much joy. _Curse it all. Think darkness and despair._

Hawke willed the smile to go away and instead glared at her companions who were all very bemused. "Hey, a smile looks great on you, Hawke. Makes you more beautiful. Did you finally have sex or what happened? If so, count me in!" Isabela fluttered her lashes and had a jolly good time mocking the ever earnest Hawke, who had no trouble scowling now.

Especially as Merrill's joy was evaporating with terror. Hawke gripped her staff, frowning. "Stop staring at my face and let's focus on our next task at hand. Viscount's Keep, now. Where do you keep prisoners, Aveline?"  


* * *

Merrill looked extremely sheepish when she stepped out of the jail cell, waving to the drunkards and pickpockets she had shared the cell with. "Dareth shiral, and please don't try to rob the next poor soul coming in here. I had nothing anyway." She ignored Aveline's glaring, and didn't look at Hawke, embarrassment rolling off her in waves. Hawke tried to soothe her with her mind, but it didn't usually work. She lacked the empathy for it. Unlike Merrill, who seemed to be able to target emotions at her quite well. "I am so sorry, Aveline. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to be there."

The guard-captain shook her head in bewilderment. "Merrill, there are guards and high walls, and barbed fences everywhere, and yet, you thought to climb into the Viscount's private garden would be okay? The honor guard might have killed you!" The Dalish merely smiled timorously some more.

"He has such a pleasant garden, the viscount. Fresh spring flowers, and a fountain, and so many pigeons! They liked my bread, I threw them crumbs. I just followed a pigeon, I love them. Did you know that Hightown pigeons are a lot bigger and healthier looking than those in Lowtown? It's quite amazing! The ones in Lowtown are more like rats. They probably eat them too." Merrill was bubbly even while defensive, and Aveline just shook her head in frustration with a groan.

"Just take her home, Hawke, and make sure she understands that next time she won't just get to spend an hour in jail and then be off free." Aveline paused and then stared at Hawke. "How did you know she was there anyhow?"

Hawke looked at Aveline, cooly, while her mind was trying to come up with a perfect explanation. "I wanted to see where you keep prisoners. That was all." Having a connection also meant Hawke was losing her edge. This was the most pitiful line she had ever come up with. Even Aveline didn't buy it, giving Hawke a long piercing look, before stomping off. She had this really angry stomp that made her look like she could easily run down a dozen smugglers on her own without blinking.

Hawke unthinkingly took Merrill's arm and walked her home, chiding her all the way. Inside, she was still smiling, because if it meant she'd feel happy like this again, she would actually help Merrill break into the Viscount's garden personally. No, actually, if it meant that Merrill herself would feel this happy again, she'd do it, even without their tenuous blood connection. _I wonder if you can buy pigeons as a present._  


* * *

The wood felt surprisingly smooth under her hand. Hard but smooth. Both good things. _Hm, how would it feel against my bare back? Or hers._ Hawke tilted her head, pushing the books she had been studying aside. For some cheap tables they had bought in the bazaar from one of the carpenters, the hexagon-shaped wood actually looked very nice. Especially if you imagine a naked form pressed down on it. Which was exactly what Hawke was doing, instead of focusing on research texts about entropy spells. There had been this delightful dream. She didn't even know whose. Had it been her own? Merrill's? It didn't really matter. It had been rather incensing. As in heat, not anger. Was it hot in here?

"Hawke, you are impossible." Merrill laughed as she returned with cups of water for them. "Shall I douse it upon your head?" It hurt Hawke. In all those years of this weird relationship she had with Merrill, a relationship long past mere teacher and student, or even companions or just friends, one thing Hawke could not abide was Merrill's lighthearted approach to all things physical. It was such a serious matter for Hawke. Especially as their only ever physical connection had gone so awry. She had never sorted it out, never worked up the courage to try it again. She had awkwardly tried, but how do you flirt with someone who a) doesn't really understand dirty comments and b) you yourself had no experience whatsoever? Awkward was too small a term.

"Relax, Hawke," Merrill breathed, and smoothed back a lock of hair from the other's face, tucking the hair behind Hawke's ear. The touch made Hawke's skin prickle all over. "I hate being serious about it, Hawke. You get carried away, all greedy, because you are so used to being all bottled up. You don't do things small, either you explode with emotion, or you repress. You need some levity about it. Some appreciation for it. It's got to be something you really want, and something you really want to give. It's got to be beautiful." She bit her bottom lip and then added with a smile. "I am not saying it wasn't beautiful then, Hawke. You are gorgeous, and it felt wonderful. It's not a fond memory, overall, but I do think about it. I am not immune to you." _No? Then why do you still mourn the Dalish woman from the mirror?_ Though to be totally honest, Hawke hadn't seen her image at all since Merrill came back to her.

Hawke rose, and slipped her arms around Merrill's slender waist. "You are so lovely, Merrill. Levity, you say? Well, humor me, please." She lifted the Dalish up on the table and then disrobed her, smiling. She breathed out in wonder at all the sights she had missed in those long months in between. If she had known how, she would have breathed loving endearments into Merrill's ears, but she did not have the words. She did not have any words. All she had was her awkward, hesitant but enthusiastic touch, the heat of her lips, and her genuine appreciation for the elf.

Soon Merrill was bending beckwards, and all the books were swept off the table. The Dalish arched towards her, and Hawke found all those sweet spots that made Merrill sigh and ask for more. Who would think that kissing the inside of the elbow's crook could move a woman to deep, throaty moans? They would look at each other and laugh, and kiss and cling to each other. It was exceptional. Whatever she did to Merrill, she felt it straight back for herself through their connection. Hawke felt like she was on fire with every kiss that she placed on the elf's skin. When the time came, Merrill's legs wrapped tightly around Hawke's shoulders, while Hawke lost herself between the softness of the elf's creamy thighs. When Merrill found tremulous release with her fingers tangled and buried in her lover's hair, Hawke finally had a moment, a memory that felt more happy and precious than fury and destruction with blood magic. Something better and infinitely sweeter than any magic.  


* * *

Hawke's heart was beating hard in her throat as she rushed through Lowtown. Aveline pointed towards the next trail of blood but she needn't have, because Hawke could feel it. It was blood magic that had been used here, and it was foul. Corrupted, tainted, disgusting. Hawke felt like throwing up, but she had to rush on, deeper into Lowtown. _-Relax, take a deep breath, everything will be alright.-_ Hawke shook the thoughts off, they were not her own.

The rest was a blur as they charged into the foundry, and found Quentin's terrible shrine and then the terrible...thing that Quentin had created. It wasn't her mother, it couldn't be.

Then Hawke remembered nothing but a terrible rage, as she destroyed the blood mage and all of his summoned creatures. Nothing but a curtain of rage and blood, so much blood, everywhere. By the end of it, she was on her knees, cradling her mother's body ( _no, not hers, just her face, oh Maker, what is this?_ ) in her arms.

"I knew you would come," her mother murmured, and all Hawke felt was this overwhelming feeling of failure. She stroked her mother's hair, feebly, not knowing how to comfort this broken shell of a body.

"I wasn't fast enough." Hawke slouched, looking into her mother's eyes that lacked the spark of life. And yet, she was still talking, and still caring. Telling her not to fret. Talking of Bethany and father. Worrying about her being all alone now. And Hawke hadn't even been able to tell her that she loved her. She so did. But late, too late, always too late, that was her. Having shed the guilt for one death in her life, only to have acquired new guilt to wear her down.

She barely heard the others. She felt touches to her shoulder, she knew they were talking to her, but Hawke didn't take any notice. All she could do was to cradle the cold body and look down at the dead eyes of Leandra Hawke.

Merrill's voice was the first that reached her. Her hands rested on Hawke's shoulders, and the moment that happened, Hawke felt all her inertia being sapped from her, replaced with grief. She leaned against Merrill and allowed herself to cry.  


* * *

She didn't remember how she had gotten home. She had not wanted to leave Leandra behind, and so she had waited for hours until people were there to assist with carrying the body to Hightown, to prepare her for funeral. Gamlen had come by, another awful conversation to have, but necessary.

Now, she was seated on her bed, so blank, so empty. Nothing but a shell. She looked down at her palms, at her arms, seeing the faint scars of her use of blood magic. She took a gasping breath. It felt like she was asphyxiating on panic and guilt, once again.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan." Words softly spoken by Merrill. She had appeared out of nowhere, standing over the dejected Hawke.

Hawke tilted her head, not looking at Merrill. "What's it mean?" she asked, her voice sharper, colder than she had intended.

"I am filled with sorrow for your loss." The elf sensed that something was not right. "Are you angry with me, Hawke? Did I say the wrong thing?" Merrill was usually so confident around Hawke, but right now, she was not. She sat down next to Hawke, waiting for her answer.

 _Do you know the strongest force in the universe? It's love._ Quentin's words were haunting Hawke, they were turning her stomach. Something so vile, committed in the name of love. By a blood mage. "I think you need to go, Merrill. I was a fool. I dabbled in something I should never have touched. Blood mages are to be reviled and hunted down. I should have known this, before I fell into this...this mess of my creation."

Merrill tensed and started to speak, but Hawke didn't give her the opportunity. "This connection between us, it is so wrong. It's a perverted use of magic, just like my mother's death today. Go, Merrill. Go." She put all force behind it that she could muster. It had to be believable. "Damn you, leave now, and don't come back."

She did, and it shredded her heart to tiny little bits when Merrill disappeared. Their connection had been fading recently, so the elf would not know the truth. The perverted truth of Hawke pushing Merrill away, far away, so that she would not be added to the list of people she loved and lost.  


* * *

The next morning, Hawke didn't even want to rise, get dressed, or do anything. What good was doing anything in life, when it all came crashing down around her anyway? Bodahn however was very insistent about knocking on her door. "Messere Hawke, there's a templar asking to you see you."

Hawke groaned and threw her pillow at the door. Who could it be? Thrask, Cullen or who else? Bodahn spoke again. "Messere, he said his name was Carver." Now that had her sitting up in bed straightly.

When she hurried downstairs, after having dressed just as hurriedly, Hawke expected the worst. She put on on her chilliest impression and slowly and deliberately walked downstairs. The first thought to enter her mind when she saw Carver was that his templar armor became him well. He no longer looked like a scruffy puppy growing into what he should become. He didn't even look like a bully anymore. He looked regal. He also looked like every other templar who had ever hunted them down.

"Why didn't you send for me?" Carver spit out the words as soon as she stood before him. He was bristling with anger. There were dark circles under his eyes. He looked so like Bethany and their mother. It would so easy to rise to the occasion and to rage back at him. Maybe three years ago she would have had him removed from the premises immediately. But that was before.

"Because I didn't know how, Carver. We haven't spoken since the day I returned from the Deep Roads. No, let me change that." Hawke put a finger to her lips, deep in thought. "I don't think we have ever truly spoken, beyond accusations and strife." She looked down at the tips of her boots. "Uncle Gamlen told you?"

Carver shook his head. "He sent me a message to come see him, but I had no time. There was trouble." There always was, these days, ever increasing. Either mages or qunari. "And then Merrill showed up at the Gallows." Hawke looked up sharply at this.

"Merrill? At the Gallows. Please tell me she's okay." She could not keep the worry from her voice, because a night is not enough to stop caring, even if you want to be an uncaring person again.

"She's fine. We took a walk. She got us lost in Lowtown. She told me about it. Everything. That he was a blood mage. And that you killed him painfully. Did you?" Carver looked at her intently, thirsting for the answer. Hawke craned her neck. She didn't even remember that she had to look up at him so. She nodded. "Good. Hawke. This is why I am a templar. To hunt bastards like this blood mage."

Hawke couldn't resist saying it. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and then defensively stated "I thought it was because you wanted to be someone besides my brother." It was so easy to get aggravated at him. That's all she ever had done. But he did not rise to the bait, so she had to add to it. "You realize Merrill is a blood mage. Do you realize she taught me? Are you still hunting us? Look at the scars. I cut myself to use my blood." She held out her arms, her scarred palms. She saw him grinding his teeth, pale from shock.

"I told you I wouldn't hunt you, because I know the value of family. I also wouldn't turn in Merrill. I am shocked that you would use blood magic, but not surprised. You won't come to a good end, being eaten up from the inside by this maker-cursed magic of yours." Carver raised his hand defensively. "I did not come here to fight with you, sister. I came here to grieve with you."

He hesitated and then added "She told me that she knows about Bethany's death, and that you grieve for her too. I still miss her too. Merrill reminded me that you are all alone now. So am I. She asked me to make my peace with you. Will you?" He sounded tired, and sad, and above all, genuine.

Hawke dug her nails into her palms. Why after all these years, why would she and Carver suddenly see eye to eye? Why did he not even have a screaming fit or revulsion at seeing her scars? Had it always been her who was the problem and not Carver. Her memories didn't agree, but it had been so many years ago.

 _-I don't want you to be alone._ Accept.- Hawke's eyes were stinging with unshed tears. She finally offered her hand to her brother, and he took it. It was an unpolished gesture with little affection, but it was a start. "Let me get changed. Then we can go mourn those we lost."

And that they did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _One spark among the embers  
>  One voice against surrender  
> One dream that's worth defending  
> One love that's neverending_
> 
> Assemblage 23 - Spark

Hawke couldn't remember ever having felt more tired, more exhausted than this. At what point had her tightly-controlled life in Kirkwall gone so wrong that it would come to this? She was running, always running, an ability she truly excelled at now. Beads of sweat and drops of blood were drying on her face. Her breath came hard and laboring, every single breath painful in her lungs. She was cut all over, bleeding from countless wounds, spent.

Why had she thought that defending that bitch Isabela would be a good idea? Had she not run from Kirkwall with the Tome of Koslun, did she not start this whole Qunari mess? And yet, when the Arishok demanded that she be turned over, Hawke spit at his feet and dared him to take her over her dead body. It must be ill-placed loyalty. _Or is that what friendship feels like?_

Even if she survived this duel that he had demanded, Hawke's life as she knew it was over. Every single nobleman in Kirkwall had been herded into the Viscount's throne room. Every single one watched Hawke dueling the Arishok to the death, with the only abilities that she had left to her: magic.

Twenty-some years of hiding from the world that she was an apostate mage, and any moment Knight-Commander Meredith might fight her way here. Even if she survived, she would likely be dragged to the Circle on the spot. She had seen her cast spells. _Focus, Hawke. He's almost got you now._ She whirled around as the towering form of the Arishok charged at her, and froze him on the spot with a blast of cold. Anything to bring distance between them. She was a formidable mage. Pools of fire were licking at their feet, and time and again she knocked the air out of him by forming barriers. She mastered the elements, held him with force.

It wasn't enough. She had already given her all. She was out of potions to bolster her strength. She didn't even have precious lyrium left to her. The Arishok slammed her into one of the pillars, and her head was ringing. A gash at her temple had blood running into her eyes. It stung, blinding her. She stumbled forward, but he impaled her on his sword, actually lifting her body in the air. It hurt so much. She was done for.

"HAWKE!" She would have recognized the voice anywhere. Hawke turned her head toward that voice. She fell on the floor, and was sure she heard her ribs crack from the force. She left bloody handprints on the floor as she pulled herself towards the source of that voice. Merrill. She was barely able to see her with the blood in her eyes, but there she was, looking pale and frightened.

Merrill held out her palm, and Hawke saw the cut, saw the blood. Understood the offer. _Why is she still trying to save me?_ She accepted the offer, instinctively tapping into the blood's magic, mending her wounds. She saw Merrill cutting herself on her forearm, for more blood, more force of life. Another chance for her to live.

Hawke rolled over and thus the Arishok's intended final blow missed her. He slipped on the bloody tiles of the floor where Hawke had been, and that was all that it took. She was filled with renewed energy. Her flames rose brightly, burning the Arishok, consuming him completely. She froze him into place, and then let him burn.

She fell on her knees, spent and withdrawn, when it was clear the duel was over. Hawke's eyes sought Merrill's and briefly they locked gazes. _How will I ever be able to thank you, Merrill?_ The elf turned away, to hug Isabela, rejoicing that her friend was saved. It made Hawke feel lonely, but she deserved no less.  


* * *

A sardonic thought was on Hawke's mind when she opened the door to the Hanged Man this day. It was about a month after the duel with the arishok. To her surprise, she was not hauled into the circle, but instead heralded as savior of Kirkwall. As champion of its people. A whole month had been spent attending one banquet after another, being wooed and charmed and appraised by the upper echelons. Meetings with Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino both, and more men and women flung at her than she would care to recall. Diplomacy and subtlety were not her strong suit, had never been, but she found most nobles were actually only too eager to lick her boots. Many seemed to think that Hawke was the one who could tip the scales in any group's favor.

 _I am the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Hanged Man is my favorite tavern in Kirkwall._ She wondered if Merrill would laugh if she told her this. She took a deep breath. She hadn't seen the elf at all in that month. She knew the companions were still regularly meeting here, even after Isabela's departure, yet again, and it was time to finally sort things out. At least that was the plan.

They stared at her when she walked in, with her fancy finery, most guests hushing when they recognized that the Champion of Kirkwall was here. Her companions had their regular table. She greeted them all with a nod and a thin smile. In her own way, she was grateful for all of them. Brooding Fenris, hard-pressed to contain his dislike of her magic, and yet still feeling he owed her a debt. Rebelling Anders, haunted by Justice and his fight against mage suppression. Stalwart Aveline, more straight-forward and principled than anyone else Hawke knew. Clever Varric, sharp of tongue and mind, and always mistrustful of Hawke's cold logic and impatience. And Merrill, of course. Sweet, naive Merrill, a most powerful mage in her own right. Who wouldn't even look at her.

"Evening. I hope you're well." Hawke nodded to everyone, and there was a choir of greetings. When Varric offered her a seat, she politely declined. Instead she nonchalantly touched a hand to Merrill's shoulder. "I would speak with you, if you had a moment."

Merrill rose her head and looked challengingly at her. "What if I don't?" The others were quiet, as Hawkle shuffled her feet uncomfortably. The elf shook off Hawke's hand and then rose. "What is it then? Where to?"

Hawke pointed to the stairs and went up the short flight, to where the few rooms of the inn were. One of them had belonged to Isabela, and Hawke had been paying for it ever since the pirate disappeared. She didn't even know why, but she wanted her to have a 'home' still when she came back. She would come back. For Merrill, if anyone. Who wouldn't?

Merrill looked confused as she stepped into the room, and then just melancholic as she walked about. What a sad, little room, with none of Isabela's vibrancy to fill it. No laughter, no card games, no drinking nights, no body shots, no sex, no life. Just rickety old furniture and an empty dresser. Hawke pressed her back against the door, watching Merrill look around sadly. _They must have been more than friends._ How sour the bile in her throat was.

"So what is it you want?" The elf raised her chin and stood right opposite of Hawke now, with crossed arms. "Let me guess. You want to lecture me on how my disgusting, perverted blood magic should not have been used, that you did not want anything to do with it." This wasn't going anything like Hawke had imagined. Merrill was bristling with resentment, and her eyes were so uncaring and chilly, it was hard to bear her gaze.

"That wasn't what I wanted to say at all." Hawke sounded defensive and cold, even to her own ears. She tried to sort her thoughts. Should she go down on her knees and ask Merrill to forgive her? How about the heavy pouch of sovereigns to show her gratitude? Her thoughts were racing.

Merrill paced before her, more heated and angrier with every word. "I do not want to be here with you. I don't want to deal with someone who would lump me up with some monster like Quentin. I have never done anyone harm." She stopped at one of the chairs in the room and then flung it to the other end of the room with surprising force. "How many years have I wasted on you, trying to absorb your pain, trying to be your friend. More than your friend. Over and over again you betrayed my trust." She whirled around to glare at Hawke. "You are just like everyone else. No, you are worse."

Hawke dug her nails into her palms, taking in all that she heard. She knew she had mistreated Merrill when she sent her away, but she had not expected that it would run so deep. Merrill was apparently able to read her mind because she laughed bitterly. "You take me for granted, don't you? That I'll always be there, ready to trust again, when you need me. And you need me. I know you do. Do I still haunt your dreams?" _Yes, you do._ How did she read her so well?

She came closer to Hawke, mere inches between them. Her breath was hot on Hawke's face. "I am so sick and tired of it. Of you." Hawke still didn't say anything, still trying to think how to respond, but she was shaking. Anger was rising in her. Merrill wasn't done yet. "Perverted and reviled, you called it. You came to me to receive it. You are just as perverted and reviled. We're the same. Only that I am not repressing my feelings and shutting everyone out. You are full of darkness."

Hawke's anger flared up. "Is that why you have one friend in the world and she keeps running away? Is that why you spend your days in loneliness? You are full of darkness too." She hissed down at Merrill, their eyes sharp daggers. "If you hate me so, why did you save me? Why did you not let me die? I would have."

Merrill reached for the lapels of Hawke's coat and pulled her closer. Their noses were touching. Hawke was very aware of how warm the elf's body was and how good she smelled. So clean and fresh without guile, unlike her words. "I didn't do it for you, Hawke. I didn't want to lose Isabela. It's not all about you."

Hawke snarled in response, and in anguish. "No! You didn't do it for her! You need me too!" Her hands closed around Merrill's head, making her close the gap between their lips. Their kiss was desperate and painful, hungry and breathless. Hawke was vaguely aware that she was moaning with every stroke of their tongues. Merrill bit her bottom lip hard, and Hawke returned the bite with one of her own. They tasted their own blood, mingling, and never broke the kiss, until they could no longer breathe.

When they broke the kiss, drawing in breath in sharp gasps, Merrill started taking off her clothes, carelessly dropping them in a pile on the floor. Hawke did the same, her eyes never leaving Merrill's. The moment she was done she reached for the elf, wrapping one of her legs around her hip. They held each other tightly, each digging their fingers into the other's skin. Hawke had to close her eyes as they continued to kiss and breathe into each other's mouths. It felt so good, and so bad at the same time. Merrill was leaving a trail of bites from one shoulder to the other. The pain and the pleasure of it were exquisite. There would be marks. She deserved them.

Hawke opened her eyes and Merrill took this opportunity to step back, pulling Hawke with her. The elf pushed her down, roughly. Not even to the bed, just to the floor where their clothes were piled up. She topped Hawke, her fingers digging into the skin of her shoulders. There would be bruises. Hawke wrapped her legs around the Dalish, bringing her ever closer. The heat between them was near unbearable. There was very little that was said between them. Sharp cries of lust, and of pain. Heated whispers of "More!" or encouragement. Intense sighing of their names to each other.

No one would believe that Merrill could be vicious, but her naive facade was far away when she devoured and consumed, ravaged and penetrated, inhaled and annihilated Hawke's body and every single defense of hers. She fell apart before her eyes, and they both cherished it. Their eyes were locked upon each other, clouded with lust, but still searching the other's gaze.

In all her encounters with Merrill, few as they were, Hawke had never fully let herself go, but tonight she did. She violently shook with release and hoarsely screamed. She fell against Merrill and feverishly worked on bringing her release as well. She sucked hard on the skin of Merrill's neck and felt the elf gouge the skin of her back during her almost violent climax.

Hawke rolled onto her side, overcome with emotion, and unable to bear the pain of the cuts on her back, or Merrill's gaze. She felt Merrill hug her from behind, gently kissing her back. Hawke wiped at her eyes, the tears burning, before she spoke. "I did not mean what I said about you. I lose everyone that I love. I didn't want to lose you too, so I pushed you away. It had to be believable, didn't it?" She cried into her hands, all the while Merrill was stroking her back.

When she calmed down, Merrill pulled her hand from her face and looked at her. "We can't do this, Hawke. This constant push and pull, off and on, hot or cold. I can't do this. It's been years, and we're still doing this. You hurt me so." She dipped her fingers into the cuts on Hawke's back, making her gasp in pain. It didn't stop the Dalish. Her fingers were glistening with fresh blood as she painted patterns onto Hawke's face. It dried along with her sweat, burning her skin. Merrill continued this quietly and solemnly. She swept back Hawke's hair and smiled as sadly as Hawke had ever seen her smile. "Vallaslin would suit your face, Hawke. Elgarnan, full of vengeance, full of anger, it would suit you. You are a terrible force to behold." She rested her chin on Hawke's shoulder, wiping the last of the blood off on Hawke's arm. "I think I am too broken to be with you, Hawke. Maybe you are too broken to be with me. Maybe we are just meant to long for each other and look out for each other from afar for the rest of our lives."

Hawke shook her head. "No. That's not how it's going to be. I will figure this out. I want us to be together." A tear rolled down Merrill's nose, to dilute the dried blood on Hawke's arm.

The elf abruptly rose to get dressed, and then moved to the door. She turned back to Hawke, looking down at her form on the floor. "I did it for you, Hawke. Not for Isabela."

When Hawke left the Hanged Man she ignored the stares from the others, ignored every one's looks as she walked out with intricate patterns painted on her face in her own blood. A god of vengeance seemed like the perfect choice for her dark expression.  


* * *

Hawke watched from afar, and longed from afar, and yet in the next three years did not once figure out how to fix their problems. Saying 'I love you' did not seem sufficient. She was thinking of grand gestures, like raising sculptures of the elf all over Hightown. She had the means. But what would it accomplish?

They were gentle with each other when they saw each other at the Hanged Man. Very rarely, they would take a walk together, just to find out how the other was. They never spoke of their feelings, and never about their magic. Merrill looked haggard and withdrawn, her eyes bigger than usual in her face. She was still struggling over the eluvian, ceaselessly.

Isabela's return was their catalyst for change. Another spark.  


* * *

She felt like going insane. Hawke had actually smiled when she heard that Isabela was back, having moved back into her old room that she had kept for her all those years. She was no longer smiling. Merrill was practically wrapped around Isabela, giddy with joy that the pirate was back. The woman seemed to know that Hawke was seething with jealousy, because she made it a huge display to rub noses with the elf and shower her with all sorts of physical affection. She eventually dragged Merrill off to her room with her, to show her some of the booty she had brought from her recent travels. _She did not mean any other booty, did she?_

Aveline shook her head. "She's got you by the balls, Hawke. Why do you let her do this?" She was confused at this and stared at Aveline in wonder. "Isabela knows that you hate this, she's trying to make you angry. Everyone knows you hate it." _Everyone knows you love Merrill, her eyes were saying._ She looked at the others and saw nothing but agreement.

Hawke rose, shaking her head angrily. "It's none of your business. Besides, Merrill loves her, and missed her. I would not deprive her of that." Instead she withdrew from the Hanged Man, to write Isabela a raging letter requesting a visit.  


* * *

Isabela wouldn't have been Isabela if she didn't show at Hawke's mansion in the middle of the night without having been let in by anyone. Hawke was trying to read more correspondence, receiving dozens of letters each day, about some matter or another. She sat before the fire, her feet on a stool, and almost jumped when Isabela suddenly slid into her lap.

"Hello Champion. Your locks are still not worth talking about it. You look romantic, the scholar with her letters, with smoldering anger in her eyes. Will you ravish me, oh Champion?" Hawke rolled her eyes and jumped out of the armchair, leaving Isabela sprawled in it.

"Is there nothing you won't mock, Isabela?" Hawke threw a couple letters towards the fireplace, setting them on fire even before they hit the flames.

"There are a few things I won't mock because they are precious to me. Let me think. My ship, if I had one. The sea. Or someone as precious to me as...Merrill." Isabela's look at Hawke was challenging.

Hawke exhaled and then sat down again, this time on the footstool. "Do you love her?"

The Rivaini laughed and tilted her head. "Of course I do. She is the sweetest thing I know, and desperately lonely. I don't care about her blood magic. She has a good heart. She deserves better." She smiled and stretched out languidly in the chair. "How about you? Do you love her?"

"Yes." She didn't even hesitate. Wasn't it painfully obvious to anyone?

"My suggestion would be to actually tell her this. Because she doesn't seem to know." Isabela leaned forward curiously. "Now, Hawke, how do you go three years without it? She told me you had a romp in my room, and nothing ever since?"

Hawke gasped and glared. "It's not so easy, Isabela." She violently shook her head.

"Of course it is. For people like you and her, it should be easy. You love each other, you pine for each other. You're both mages. You both are fucking lonely." Isabela looked more serious. "She has some weird shit going on, Hawke. I think she's going to do something reckless and dangerous, because she keeps asking Aveline to take care of you and me. Make this right."

She tapped her foot on the floor. "I thought this would be a lot easier. Just make Hawke jealous and she will jump her. Maker, you're so stubborn and stupid." The Rivaini stood. "I have high expectations, Champion. If anything happens to her, I'll stab you, because you could have stopped her. You'll wish you never dueled for me." She frowned and then added "I never said thank you for it, and I probably might not ever."

She was dead-serious about it too.  


* * *

Of course Hawke's sense of timing was hopeless. By the time she wanted to proudly proclaim her love for Merrill, the elf asked her to come to Sundermount with her. As usual, Hawke could not say no. Not to Merrill, ever.

Return trips from Sundermount were always a study in misery. How many years ago had they taken a shattered Merrill home to the alienage when Pol had run from her in fear? Now she was even more shattered. She clung to Hawke's arm as the Champion guided her down the slopes of Sundermount. There was nothing more here for Merrill now. Her clan was dead, perished at their hands.

Hawke thought she could have done something different to stop the carnage, but she could never have blamed Merrill for Marethari's death. It was not her fault. It was a chain of horrible events, misunderstandings. The corrupting touch of demons. Hawke yelled at the clansmen to stand down, and they didn't.

Back at the alienage, Hawke did not leave her side, wrapping the shivering Merrill into blankets and washing the blood from her face. She was injured, stabbed by Marethari, or rather the demon, and it went further than just skin-deep.

Hawke briefly left in the morning to buy food for them. When she returned, Merrill was seated on her bed, staring at the eluvian in misery and despair. She rose when she saw Hawke, standing before the mirror. "You were right, Hawke. I am broken. I have killed my own people, in blind pursuit of what I thought would save us. I thought they would love me. But instead I destroyed those that I wished to serve. I am full of darkness. Marethari..." She covered her face, mourning the woman who had raised her like a mother.

Hawke put the bag of food she had bought on a table, and then moved to stand behind the elf. "I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. This...this mirror here, it hasn't brought you any joy. You are not full of darkness, Merrill. Remember, I once felt the touch of your dreams and your thoughts. There is so much lightness and joy." She pulled her to herself, lifting her chin. "I could not imagine anything better in life than experiencing it at your side. All that you have to give. You have so much to give."

Merrill leaned against her, exhaling, as Hawke continued to speak. She had prepared for this speech for three years, no, longer than that. It had to have been worth it. "It's not your fault, what happened. They didn't understand. The Keeper loved you, and tried to protect you. We do crazy things for love."

She laughed bitterly. "It drives me insane that Quentin was right, that love is the strongest force in the universe. But he didn't know love, just insanity. I have felt the hand of the Maker, or of your Creators, being with you. Don't give up on yourself. Don't give up on me. Let's not surrender to our darkness."

The elf looked up at her, her face still tear-stained, but there was a smile. "Was that very hard for you, Hawke? I think it must have been. You don't usually say that much."

"Does it bother you if I do? Would you have me use one-liners, brisk responses? I found they make expressing emotions very difficult." Hawke shook her head, in wonder. "Do you realize how much you have changed me for the better, Merrill? You are so giving. Will you have a life with me?"

Merrill looked at her as if she was a stranger, touching her face lightly. "Yes, still feels like the same Hawke. Smells like the same Hawke." She placed a kiss on Hawke's lips. "Tastes like her too." Hawke looked hurt again, feeling rejected, which made Merrill add "You pout like her too. You do know that I love you, yes? Hawke, if you will have me, I will have a life with you. A life without blood magic, and a life without memories of this creators-forsaken mirror." She pushed Hawke away, and smashed it with her staff, with all the force she could muster.  


* * *

One thing never changed on the Wounded Coast. The amount of bandits, mercenaries, wild beasts, it never decreased, no matter how many times they were slaughtered. The coast was never truly safe. But it also never changed that it was a lovely stretch of coast. Taking walks there made Merrill so happy. Once she'd even convinced Hawke to go skinny-dipping, and the lovemaking on the beach that followed was some of the best she could recall. It was good seeing Merrill happy. It was good feeling happy herself.

Sometimes Hawke couldn't believe that she had needed Merrill's blood to experience anything but anger. They laughed together, they loved each other with ardor, tenderness or both (depending on their mood), and sometimes they even had highly scientific discourses about all sorts of magic. Though never blood magic, this chapter of their lives was over. Currently, their arms were linked and they were debating which school was more powerful, Elemental or Primal.

"There is absolutely no doubt that a fully trained primal mage will beat an elemental mage. We just have that many more tools available. We are more versatile. Protection, control and destruction. You with your fire and ice do not measure up. Why, I would encase you in rock and then sear the life out of you." Merrill was quick to add, "Theoretically spoken of course. I would never..." She scratched her head, embarrassed. She got so carried away when they talked about magic. She was such a powerful mage.

They crested a ridge and came upon two things. First, they espied a different couple, who were actually kissing quite deeply. It turned out to be Aveline and her husband Donnic. Merrill giggled and leaned against Hawke. "Are they supposed to do this while on duty? Isn't that unprofessional? How adorable they look. Do we look that sweet when we kiss?"

Hawke shook her head. "We look much sweeter. You could lose a tooth or two to watching us." Aveline and Donnic had broken apart when they heard Merrill's giggling. They looked so guilty that Hawke had to chuckle. "Carry on, by all means. We won't tell anyone. The coast is clear too. This is the most romantic spot on all of the coast. " She pointed at the stand of dead trees, burned and electrocuted until all life was sapped out of them, many years ago now. "I fell in love here. I found my one dream that's worth defending."

Aveline shook her head, all puzzled. "All those years, and we never knew that beneath your shell there was this poetic, romantic, Hawke."

The other woman put a finger to her lips. "Shhh, don't tell anyone. Think of my reputation." She put her arm around Merrill's waist. "Shall we go home?"

The elf nodded with a smile. "Let's go home. I think your brother is coming over for dinner. Please don't fight with him tonight? Ah, what am I saying, you two always will."

Hawke looked pleased and nodded to the other couple. "Stop by if you wish. It's good to have friends and family joined together."

They would never be alone with their darkness again.


End file.
